


Dream Job AU

by QueanBysshe



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney Cartoons (Classic), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dimension-Hopping, Disney World & Disneyland, I am working through some things, M/M, Mental Health Hospital, Mental Illness, PTSD, Polyamorous Character, Self-Indulgent, Stockholm Syndrome, The Disney Villains Have A Guild, Trans Male Character, excessive flirting, kink discussion, spousal abuse mention, suicide ideation mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16091561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueanBysshe/pseuds/QueanBysshe
Summary: Ellery used to work for Disney, before he transitioned. That was a long time ago--but he doesn't realise how strong an impression he made on certain individuals. Certain individuals who remember him when they need to call upon a human from the outside to do certain things for them....





	1. Help Wanted, Please Don't Apply

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. So this is semi-autobiographical. Names have been changed to protect real people, but the stuff about being in a mental hospital is true and happened to me. The only difference is that I wasn't rescued by a bunch of Disney Villains and offered a job, obviously. 
> 
> This deals with the trauma of being in a behavioural health unit, which I was over and over for the month of August. If you want to tap out please feel free, there's some stuff in here that might be upsetting. That stuff may also be educational, or eye-opening, or cathartic for other folks, so that's why I'm posting it. It was certainly cathartic for me to write about my own h/c AU.

There was no opening listed for the positions that opened up for what was known as Deep Park; you were notified of when you had an interview, and you either went to it and found out about the concept, or you didn't. Certainly, no one was going to tell you beforehand that the Magic was real-real; as in, the characters from the films you loved as a child were breathing, living beings, who were, yes, that powerful and (in some cases) that wicked.

The Council needed reining in after The Incident, and Mickey had been unable to think of any way to make the pack of sorcerers, magical beings, and a few outright dragons to stop being so prone to destroying property and nearly getting everyone in the Park killed--or worse, exposing themselves to the guests as reality rather than fantasy.

In the end, Daisy was the one that offered a solution. If they were a Guild, she said, why didn't they have a secretary to take minutes?

Their hiring process was impossible to pass; they kept rigging interviews. They didn't want the transfers, they didn't want fresh new college students, and they didn't want highly qualified experts in the field. They even turned down the best in the company.

'What do you want, then? You can't just not hire one,' Mickey said, in a final meeting with the Small Council.

'We are looking for a _specific_ cast member,' Maleficent said, sipping her coffee. 'He would be... about thirty, now.'

'Why didn't you say so?'

'We do not have his name,' Maleficent answered, unruffled. 'He worked in the Carnation once.'

'He sang,' added Ursula, 'beautifully.'

Mickey remembered every single person who had ever worked for him; every one, no matter how short a time, no matter how long ago. 'He sang while he worked?' not a server, then. Something came to him. 'When?'

'Years ago,' Maleficent waved a hand. 'Perhaps ten or so.'

Now he remembered. 'The dishwasher. Mel.'

'Him,' Maleficent said, her eyes flaring with a smile like a knife. 'We want him.'

It would certainly be very unusual, and a little difficult-- _very_ difficult, Mickey soon found out. Mel's old number was disconnected, he hadn't stayed long enough to make friends, and he'd dropped off the map years ago. Mickey remembered him better from when he'd been a guest, and asked one of the mice that worked in one of the company offices to keep an eye on his mother.

He'd stopped talking to his mother, the mouse reported after a month of observation; she didn't know where he was or if he was even alive.

'I can't find him,' Mickey said, almost a year of searching later. 'He's gone. You have to make do with someone else.'

'No,' Maleficent said. 'We want _him_.'

'You want him because it's impossible!'

'I had no idea the boy would be so slippery,' Maleficent said, beatifically. 'He seemed so attached to us.'

'Find him yourselves, then!' Too late, Mickey realised this was the worst possible licence to give a guild full of villainy.

'Very well,' said Maleficent, still smiling; and Mickey knew he'd walked into a trap.

-

Ellery was currently living five hours from the Park, deep or otherwise, and in a hospital.

This didn't matter to the man who had come for him.

'Ellery, you have a visitor.'

Ellery looked up from his tarot cards at the nurse. He knew better than to imply at all that he was surprised, or not expecting them; if anyone had come to visit, he didn't care who, he would say anything to get the staff to think he had expected them. 'I didn't expect them today, what a nice surprise. Can you send them to my room?'

'I will do that!'

The nurse was one of Ellery's favourites, and Ellery smiled as he went back to studying his tarot spread, the ambient noise of the wing still rather loud even in his little corner room, because of visitors and the general din of evening, when groups were all over and dinner was done and people were bored and there was nothing to do but talk. Ellery had trouble tuning it out to noise, especially as bored as he was, and picked up on his nurse coming back, and... a voice that grabbed his attention quite instantly. It couldn't be....

'Mister Goodwin,' said Jafar, smiling and coming into Ellery's room, sitting in the only chair. 'How nice to see you again.'

'Jafar,' Ellery said, surprised at how well he was taking this. Maybe it was the lexapro, it was kind of making him take _everything_ well.... Ellery kept his eyes down, on his cards. Jafar had a cane, Ellery knew what the figural on top was, and he was _not_ going to look at it. 'Interesting choice, given my history with you.'

'One fan is not the definition of oneself,' Jafar said, witheringly. Ellery gave a laugh, at that, writing in his journal with one of the coveted pens he'd stolen. They weren't to have pens, but the little golf pencils they _were_ allowed hurt his hand, and didn't write well.

'But you knew what I'd think.'

'What _do_ you think, nowadays? My, but it's been a _long_ time, Mr Goodwin....'

'Yeah,' Ellery said, and Jafar was surprised at how profoundly _sad_ he sounded. 'It has. I've... I've missed y'all a lot. I just... trained myself not to notice.' He started putting away his cards. 'So,' he said, 'what brings you here?'

'We've been in need of your services.'

'...Okaaaay,' Ellery said, wondering in a faraway part of himself if that was supposed to mean dishes or sex or a thousand other things.

'Given your _circumstances_ , I think it best to inform--'

'You don't know my circumstances,' Ellery interrupted, sharp and bitter and hurting. 'I'm homeless, I've just gotten out of the _worst_ emotional abuse that lasted my _entire_ twenties, I don't know who I am, and if this is some kind of job offer it has to come with room and board and medical attention because I have _nothing_ right now and I am fucked the fuck up, as evidenced by my being in a mental wing. All my earthly possessions are in a duffel bag and a beach bag and like a couple backpacks maybe, and my two pillows and a blanket.'

'So you accept,' was all Jafar said in reply, after listening _attentively_ to every detail. Ellery could hear the sinister smile.

Ellery thought it over. 'What services of mine,' he said, shuffling his tarot deck as he spoke, 'were you needing?'

'Secretarial, of course.'

'Of course,' Ellery's heart leapt with a childhood dream rekindled. 'I'd be... working for the Mouse again?' he hated how hopeful he sounded.

'Technically.'

'I thought I wasn't re-hireable.'

'Maleficent was adamant about hiring _you_ , and no other. Not that the rest of us are in disagreement,' he added, in a lower, more velvet tone. Ellery didn't shiver, which he found odd--and a little alarming. He felt long, slim, beautiful hands on his shoulders. 'You made a very good first impression.'

'I'm so glad,' was all Ellery could manage. 'When can you take me home?'

'When will they let you leave?'

'Oh, they've been trying to kick my uninsured ass out since I got here,' Ellery said cheerfully. 'Meanwhile, the folks that want to leave aren't being released. It's so helpful when you actually do what you're supposed to and ask for help when you're contemplating suicide, it really is!'

'You are far too composed,' Jafar pulled away, studying him critically--but not in the physical realm; he was a sorcerer, he could see there was something wrong about Ellery's aura, even without knowing what it was normally. 'What have they done to you?'

'I'm on some medicines,' Ellery said, raising a brow at him. 'The lexapro maybe. It's pretty nice.'

'It's poisoning you.'

'Then get me out of here,' Ellery said calmly. He was starting to realise he was too calm, and too composed, because Jafar was right--he should have shivered and flushed and started getting wet from Jafar's voice at his ear, but he _wasn't_ , despite wanting to, despite knowing that's what should be happening. 'It'll be easy. They _want_ me to go.' He looked, a nervous flick, into Jafar's eyes, then down at his hands, shuffling his cards.

When he looked up, Jafar was gone.

-

'Ellery, you have a phone call. Someone named Mal Thorn.'

Ellery pulled up a chair by one of the three phones, his favourite one, that one in the hall, and sat down, waiting for the phone to ring before picking it up. 'Hello?'

_'Jafar tells me you go by Ellery Goodwin now.'_

Ellery felt something _happen_ in his head, at the sound of Maleficent's voice, something started making him a little woozy, but in a way that was like when dizziness was _clearing away_ , not starting. 'Yes, Ma'am,' he said.

She _Laughed_ , and he actually felt his coque wake up and _shiver_ , and he realised then it had been a while since that had happened, since he'd truly _felt_ anything. _'You don't need training on how to address me, good. I do so_ _**loathe** _ _this enforced disrespect.'_

'I would never presume to use your name, Ma'am,' Ellery said, and his hips tensed and warmed at her praise.

 _'And that is why we want you. Well,'_ she said, voice full of foreboding. _'Now that I have your Name, things will be so much easier. Be ready to leave tonight.'_

'Where will I be staying?' Ellery asked, even with her voice, and the arousal, and the anxiety medicine, he was still focussed on housing. It was hard not to be, when you didn't have it.

_'Ohhh, it was quite the argument. I believe we narrowed it down to Professor Ratigan and Wiggins. We thought it wise you had a choice.'_

Ellery thought on this. 'Wouldn't... I have to be a... small animal, to stay with the Professor? Could I... pick my species?' He went on, a little firmer. 'I would need to pick my species. A little brown long-eared bat is my preference. But... Wiggins?' he said, 'I don't... I don't know what Wiggins is even _like_ , really. Does he still live with Ratcliffe?'

_'Yes.'_

She was letting him talk this out. He appreciated that, really. 'I... I like Wiggins, generally. But I don't like Ratcliffe, and I don't think that would be exactly... good for me. But I don't really know. If they offered, then they... must want me as a guest. You said it was an argument? Over what, who _has_ to take me in?'

 _'Why, no, pet. Who would get the_ _**privilege** _ _.'_

The rush of endorphins almost made him cry, so deprived of them was he. '...Oh,' he said, in a small voice, tears blurring his vision. They'd argued over it because all of them _wanted him_? All of them? 'So... does that imply that... that Ratcliffe wants me as a guest, too? I guess it would,' he answered himself. 'That's... that's unexpected. I. Hm. Um.'

Which one? Guiltily, he thought that he'd rather stay with people who weren't self-loathing in their racism, like Ratigan was; even if that racism was, well, abhorrent morally, that didn't mean someone couldn't be good for him in other ways.

'I guess... I guess Wiggins would be the best choice for where I'm at, right now.'

_'Very well. You will be given time to recover from your... imprisonment... once you arrive in Kingsait. You will be given a new phone. You are not to tell anyone where you are going, only that you are working for a private group of individuals.'_

'Yes, Ma'am.' He completely understood the secrecy.

_'Your hosts will retrieve you this evening. All has been arranged.'_

'Yes, Ma'am.' Even so, he wasn't going to tell anyone in advance. He had their phone numbers... and he wasn't quite sure this was happening, didn't want to jinx it.

He went to group after, and forgot about it, having to play catch up and getting focussed on the activities that filled the morning. He took a shower while waiting for lunch to arrive, and picked at his food, good-naturedly complaining about how awful it was with everyone else, and even writing a comment on the receipt that came with his friend Tiger's that made her laugh. Then, he laid the cards for his friends, and people drifted away as their visitors arrived, or didn't. Some people went walking around the perimiter of the wing, restless at being cooped up with low ceilings and small windows that didn't look out over much but roof.

'Ellery?' came a bright, English voice. Ellery looked up, turning to see a spindly, cheerful person who came to sit down immediately.

Beside him, Beth smacked his arm. 'You said you didn't have visitors.'

'Oh don't worry, I'm a surprise,' Wiggins said.

'Yeah you are,' Ellery said, warming to the theme. 'What the fuck, dude?' he said, hugging Wiggins like they were old friends. 'I haven't seen you since _high school,_ man, how the hell are you?'

'Alarmed to find you in a hospital,' Wiggins said, all sympathy.

'I am newly single,' Ellery said proudly. 'My ex husband can go die in a hole, covered in petrol, on fire.'

'Ah yes, _those_.'

'Word,' Beth said, nodding.

'I've been helping Beth break up with hers,' Ellery explained, shuffling his cards.

Wiggins chatted like a pro, but Ellery also felt comfortable, and loved. Wiggins touched Ellery a lot, and Ellery noticed because it had been weeks since he'd had any affectionate touch of any kind, in and out of hospitals and crisis centres as he had been, where there was a no touching rule. He ended up catching Wiggins up, without really thinking about it, and ended up crying a little on his shoulder, since for the first time since the break up with his ex, Ellery had someone who offered a shoulder at all. He even had a handkerchief.

Ellery hated crying in public, it was so upsetting to be that vulnerable, and so he retreated to his room soon after, Wiggins following, on the pretense of needing to splash his face with cool water. When he was drying off using one of the towels he had draped over the stall-style door, he heard rustling fabric, and dried his glasses, opening the magnetic door to see Wiggins just finishing making his bed.

'Thank you,' Ellery said, unsure what else to say. 'Um... so how's this work, with discharge, and all?'

'Oh, that's being taken care of,' Wiggins said. 'I believe Hades is having fun with it. You should be free to go by the time visitation is over.'

'Bureaucracy magic,' Ellery muttered, chuckling as he sat down on the bed, next to Wiggins. 'So,' he said. 'Um. Thanks, for that. In the common room, I mean.'

Wiggins put a hand on his back. 'It's nearly over,' he said. 'And I want you to meet John.'

'Why is everyone named John?'

'I'm not,' Wiggins said brightly. 'I'm Simon.'

'I've always liked that name,' Ellery said, with half a smile. 'I was going to name my first cat that, as a kid. Simon. Good name for a black cat, I thought.'

'Would you like a cat? There's some kittens in the next house over.'

'I... I don't know if that would be good or bad,' Ellery admitted. 'My ex... we had... we had three cats. Together. We called them our children. And... they're gone now. To me, anyway.'

He hugged Ellery, holding him for a long while. 'You should have a comfort animal. I hear that's good for former prisoners.'

'I'm...' the protest died on Ellery's lips. They'd joked that prison inmates got better books than they did, better food. They'd joked that being here at crisis inpatient was like prison, since they couldn't go outside or close their doors, since there was never any privacy. But it was... it felt taboo, to compare it to that, sincerely. But... it _was_ worse, from what Ellery knew, in terms of lack of privacy and basic comforts. And he'd been wondering what almost a month in the same environment was doing to him, trauma-wise.

He started to cry again, and Wiggins held him through it.

'We'll get you a pet,' Wiggins said.

'I hate small dogs,' Ellery said wetly, into his chest. 'They're scary.'

'We don't have a dog anymore,' Wiggins said, and Ellery was so surprised he looked up, sniffling.

'You don't?' he asked, taking the offered handkerchief, as he had before--this one was new, and the same clean white linen, very fine.

'We don't have any pets, at the moment,' Wiggins said.

'I'd... I'd like a kitten of my own...' Ellery said, quietly, drying his tears. 'A little soft kitten that purred really loud....'

'Oh yes, you'll want a ship's cat, then. I know where to find one.'

Ellery leaned against him, thinking about it, really thinking about it, letting himself think about it. He'd blocked off the part of his feelings that dealt with the loss of his three cats, especially after he'd just started being able to actually cuddle with them again, after his surgery had meant he was kicking them off the bed so they wouldn't upset the incisions or the tubes. He sniffled, 'I miss Pinecone.'

Wiggins kissed his temple, solemnly. 'I think you should have a kitten.'

-

There were endless papers to sign, and things half-forgotten to inventory, but it all got done, and Ellery was waiting in his room, trying to repack his things, trying to hide his nerves, wearing the only good shirt and his sweatpants, which were not good, and worrying, when he heard the clearing of a throat, and a knocking on his doorframe. When he turned, Wiggins wasn't alone in the doorway. Dressed in a fine suit, his long black hair pulled back into a lush queue.... Ellery didn't realise he was staring, licked his lips and swallowed hard. He missed the look the two villains exchanged, at his reaction.

'Who's driving?' Ellery asked, with a show of cheer to cover up the blushing.

'I am,' Wiggins said, and picked up the iridescent neon beach bag that contained all of Ellery's posessions, as well as the plastic hospital bag with his name. Ellery carried his pillow, his stuffed animal hidden inside the pillowcase alongside it.

'Come along,' Ratcliffe's voice was--there was no other word for it--sumptuous, and Ellery wondered if he was blushing, as he let Ratcliffe lead him out, Wiggins bouncing ahead of them, despite the heavy bags. Ellery was accosted by friends he'd made here, hugs and well-wishes and promises to keep in touch and call the hospital while they were still inside.

Once the doors closed behind them, and they were in the hall, Ellery felt a buzzing haze in his head, something purely emotional and scary and yet also numb and blank. _Trauma,_ he thought distantly, _I must be having some kind of breakdown or something._ He had to ground himself, he needed to _touch someone_ , he stopped walking.

'I need a hug,' he announced, a little loudly, and hearing it echo into the open sky made him realise... 'I need a hug, or... or a hand to hold, or _something;'_ he heard his voice break in half on the word. 'I just... I just lost time, I haven't had human affection in _weeks_ , and I think I am having a breakdown.'

He felt Ratcliffe's hands move to squeeze his shoulders. 'Steady,' came the word, said low and even, a very English way to comfort a man; but Ellery liked the affirmation of his gender and the encouragement, as much as the Englishness. It helped. It helped a lot.

'I'm outside,' Ellery breathed, looking up at the sky and swallowing hard, his throat feeling stuck and hurting. 'I'm outside...'

'And you're a free man,' Ratcliffe added, and it hit Ellery, then, that _Ratcliffe knew what this felt like_ . He'd been in prison. A little of the clawing... _something_... eased, at that.

'It's only a short trip,' Wiggins said cheerfully, coming back to them, the bags gone. 'We can stop as often as you like.'

'No I... I think I'll be okay... I just want... music,' Ellery said, missing it like an ache. It had been an entire week without music he hadn't sung himself.

Wiggins opened the door for him, and Ratcliffe sat beside him in the back of the town car. It was black, of course, and luxurious, with plush violet seats that matched most of the Guild's aesthetics. Almost immediately, Ellery leaned against Ratcliffe's side with a helpless little noise that was almost a sob.

Ratcliffe needed no explanation. He'd been in a cell. While Ellery's looked the more luxurious, he was not afforded privacy in the least; and that was not accounting for the other hospitals, and the coach from the frozen north to this place.

Their house in Town was going to seem like a luxury.

And, too, Ratcliffe had seen the little hitch of breath, the flush of cheek, the _shock_ that was usually reserved for men seeing a beautiful maiden. And it had been for _him._ It was intriguing, but now was not the time to push.

'Are you two lovers?' Ellery asked, in the quiet of the classical music.

They both laughed, but quietly. 'Lovers of boys,' Ratcliffe said, unruffled. 'And, perhaps, there was a time...'

'I won't have him,' Wiggins cut him off. 'He's disobedient.'

Ellery blinked in shock, then laughed at his own surprise. 'You're a dom. Of course you're a dom.'

'A what?'

'Dominant, as in dominant and submissive. It's... a power game, in the bedroom. Lots of people like it, so there's... terms.' _I am explaining basic kink to Disney Villains oh my god._

'Did you hear that, Simon, there are _terms_ ,' Ratcliffe said, much pleased with it.

'Let me guess, you're both doms?'

'I believe so, yes. And what are _you_?'

Ellery found himself feeling lighter, more himself, and smiled, sitting up a little. 'I'm a greedy little switch. I like both roles, depends on the person.'

'John,' Wiggins said, from the front seat, looking at them in the rear view as they waited at a stop light.

It took a beat for Ellery to realise Wiggins wasn't addressing Ratcliffe, he was asking which role Ellery would take with him. 'Oh, I see. Well...' Ellery said, 'see, that's cheating. I know he's a dom, so of course I'm a sub. It only gets interesting when I _don't_ know what someone is, or when they're also a switch.'

'Gaston.'

'Oh he's only good tied up and gagged like a sex toy with a pulse, _obviously_.' Ellery wondered if his frank expression would shock them.

It did. Wiggins made a choked off little noise that, Ellery realised, was _laughter_. Ratcliffe snorted like a well-bred horse.

'Simon likes _horses_ ,' Ratcliffe said, in a tone with just a tasteful bit of teasing in it. Ellery squirmed, visions of riding crops and fancy boots in his head.

' _Do_ you now....'

'Do _you_ know how to ride, Ellery?' Wiggins asked, in _so_ mild a voice.

'I know how to _be_ ridden,' Ellery flirted, and saw those eyes sharpen in a way he'd never expected. Wiggins was, he was sure, _on._

'Oh dear,' he said, in a silken voice. 'I do believe John and I are going to _exhaust_ you.'

'Try me, cupcake,' Ellery said, giddy at his nerve. 'I'm a _slut_ for Englishmen.'

-

They pulled the car off onto a road that wound through the redwoods, and when they were deep enough, Wiggins pulled over and stopped the car. Ellery was a little confused, until he saw Jafar walk, in his usual robes, out of a shadow.

'How is he?' he asked the other two, and Ellery wanted to squirm at how hot that was, especially after an hour of education-cum-flirtation in the car.

'Educational,' Ratcliffe said, with a side glance at Ellery, who grinned cheekily back, and actually heard his own little evil laugh escape his chest, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. Jafar looked between the three of them, suddenly seeming much more interested in Ellery.

'I _see_ ,' he said, and turned. 'Come along.'

Ellery followed the three of them, off the road and into the trees. He heard voices, faintly muffled, behind them. He enjoyed the night, trying to remember that he was a witch, he had to walk knowing _he_ was the most frightening thing in the forest. He was free. He was...

'Home,' he said, and gasped at the sound of it in his ears, everything slamming home all at once. 'Home,' he said again, and gave an elated laugh. 'I'm going _home_!'

'Let him,' Ratcliffe said in an undertone to Jafar, a hand out to stop the sorcerer's protest. Jafar heaved a long-suffering sigh, and began to open the portal, while Wiggins and Ratcliffe watched Ellery in the shadowed dark under the canopy. Wiggins was hugged, and Ellery was laughing and crying all at once.

'Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou--'

Wiggins held him, mostly so he wouldn't run off, and to ground him--giddy was just as bad as sobbing, at this point. He gave the boy contact, wrapped arms around him snugly, and it stilled him, calmed him. Wiggins reflected it was, as always, like calming a horse. He put a hand on the back of Ellery's curly head, and spoke in a voice he only used in darkness.

'Hush, pet.'

Ellery made a delicious noise, and nuzzled Wiggins' chest, curling against him, thighs pressing together.

' _Thaat's_ it,' Wiggins purred softly, toying with those curls. 'Good _boy_.'

A high little mewl, breathless, and Wiggins took the opportunity to kiss those parted lips, hooking a finger unger Ellery's chin oh-so-gently to tilt his face up for it. 'Such a luscious little pony, aren't you?' he said, testing. Ellery threw his arms around Wiggins' neck then, and kissed with enthusiasm that nearly knocked him over.

 _'Yes_ ,' he said, 'Yes, yes, wrap me in leather and _ride me_...'

' _Wiggins_ ,' Jafar called impatiently, and Ellery realised they were a few yards from the portal now glowing in the air like a mirror from nowhere. The other side was full of stars and moonlight-darkness. Ellery caught his breath, looked at Wiggins.

'You _are_ _**something**_ , aren't you?' Wiggins said, not sounding displeased.

 


	2. London, Or Something Like It

A carriage was waiting for them, two black horses in the harness. Ellery resisted the urge to coo at them, instead looking at them with critical eye. They seemed calm, alert, and uninjured, not foaming or holding their heads too high or too low. He didn't know much about horses specifically, but he knew animals, and he knew mammals best of all. He didn't like bits on general principle, but these horses' bits didn't seem too bad.

'Guests first,' Ratcliffe said simply, as the driver opened the door. Ellery felt the embarrassment most of his generation felt at being waited on, but he swallowed it and was grateful instead, stepping into the carriage without rushing himself, because he didn't want to lose balance and fall, or slip, or do something else that would hurt. He'd never done this before, it wasn't _steady_ , not like a car, it shifted on leather shocks, and Ellery was glad his balance and reflexes were so good, as he narrowly avoided falling into the velvet of the seats. Wiggins climbed in after him, sitting beside him; it was a close fit, but Ellery didn't mind. A carriage! He'd never been in one before. He looked around, eager as a scholar for the details of velvet, the cushions, as Ratcliffe climbed in, sitting across from them in the deeper seat. Ellery didn't begrudge him, he'd never seen a man of Ratcliffe's size so well-accommodated, and it made him happy.

They began to move, and Ellery immediately remembered he got motion sick easily, and leaned back, closing his eyes. But nobody said anything on the ride, or asked after it, and soon enough they were arrived at their destination, and Ellery was getting out first too, followed by his hosts, to see a grand English townhouse in brick with four stories and a little flight of steps leading up to the door. He didn't have much to say, just _looking_. Kingsait smelled like any city, it didn't bother him much.

Inside, the house was beautiful wood floors and there was art on the walls. It was soothingly dark, and smelled... like a home. Wood and rushes and Ellery realised he was so tired, and so hungry. A woman in a cap and apron, but not wearing black (it was, Ellery reminded himself, too early in history for servants to wear all black), curtseyed.

'Supper is waiting, sirs.' She eyed Ellery's state of dress with some distaste, but curtseyed again and went back down the hall. A young boy was already hauling the bags upstairs, and the pillow, with its bleach-spilled case.

'Will you be joining us?' Ratcliffe asked.

'I should,' Ellery said, looking up the stairs with some longing. 'I'm exhausted, but I need to eat.'

Ratcliffe watched the boy eat, picking through his food, eating only the lean parts and a few other things, turning down the wine. But it was his first day off of what sounded worse than gruel. He didn't press the man for conversation, speaking quietly to Wiggins of this and that, aware Goodwin was listening. Once abed, he was asleep immediately.

'I _am_ glad he chose us,' Wiggins remarked, as he was undressing Ratcliffe for bed, helping to undo the back lacings of the doublet. 'He's much worse than Jafar reported.'

'Yes, well,' Ratcliffe said, feeling Wiggins' nimble fingers picking at the laces. 'Jafar has never been in such a state, has he?'

Wiggins hummed supportively. 'I promised we would get him a kitten, if he liked. He might ask for a different pet.'

'A rat, you mean?' Ratcliffe said, with a wry twist of a smile.

'Perhaps,' Wiggins allowed. 'Not a dog. Well,' he amended, remembering Ellry's specificity. 'Not a _small_ dog.'

'A cat would be preferable. Has he been warned about his... craft?'

'He's an intelligent creature, but I will remind him, in the morning.'

-

Wiggins did not go into Ellery's room to unpack the rest of the things that had arrived the night before, though every valet instinct told him he must; privacy was something Ellery had not had for the past month, perhaps longer, and privacy was what he needed more, than convenience. Wiggins tapped on the door, and Ellery opened it, dressed in long breeches and a loose doublet with a hood.

'Are we getting clothes today?' he asked.

'If you like,' Wiggins said.

'I want people to stop staring at me,' Ellery said, 'and... I want nicer clothes. I hate feeling shabby.'

'A good suit of clothes does wonders for one's mood,' Wiggins agreed. 'Did you want breakfast in your room, or will you take it downstairs?'

'Downstairs. Are you technically a valet or...?'

'Yes, but I take liberties.'

'I bet you do,' Ellery said, raising a brow, and Wiggins chuckled, leading him down the stairs and making sure he remembered where the dining room was. He excused himself after that, but Ellery didn't mind, going into the dining room to see what was for breakfast. Ratcliffe's table had been a nice one last night, and this morning was much of the same. Ellery wanted to get his hands on the steaming bread and the butter, first. He sat down at Ratcliffe's right hand, hoping he remembered the etiquette properly.

'Good morning,' he said, a little unsure of himself. It had been a while since he'd eaten in a formal setting. The hospital didn't count. He took some of the bread and butter, remembering the rule that an Englishman always served himself breakfast.

'Good morning,' Ratcliffe said, 'did you sleep well?'

'Like a _corpse_ ,' Ellery said, with feeling. 'It was so nice and _dark_ and _quiet_.' He ventured into the little jar with the little silver spoon. 'Is this jam?'

'Gooseberry.'

'Ooooh! I've never had gooseberry.'

Ratcliffe watched him sample things. 'I'm glad to see you've your appetite back.' He watched Ellery blush, as though he'd _flirted_.

'Thank you,' he said, shyly. They ate together in silence for some time; Ellery had wonderful table manners, fastidious as a cat.

'Milady wants to see you in three days,' Ratcliffe said, presently.

'Why not now?' Ellery asked, on his third helping of bread, though he'd taken a little chicken, thank God. He was eating like a bird....

'You just survived an ordeal, sir,' Ratcliffe said, taken aback at the expectation she would demand to see him _immediately_. 'Your duties are contingent upon the Small Council agreeing you are fully recovered.'

Ellery paused again. 'That's... that will take a _long_ time. Recovered from which part of this, exactly? The hospital or the decade of emotional abuse?' He wasn't even going to go into his childhood; but the other two things, those were new. Or at least, with the latter, they were newly realised damage. A moment or two later, Ellery realised, embarrassed, that he didn't want an answer, and maybe had said too much, been too confrontational.

'Sorry,' he said, looking at his plate. 'I just... I don't _feel_ like the hospital was terrible, but because you're all saying it was, I'm starting to kind of look at it differently.' He picked at his bread, not knowing if he should open up, but so badly wanting to, _needing_ to, open up to _someone_.

'I'm... I'm aware I'm a kind of crazy that means I fawn as a reaction to stress, rather than fighting or fleeing or freezing, and that... makes it hard to realise when I'm being treated badly.' Ellery gave a mirthless little laugh. 'Aaand I probably shouldn't say something like that to a member of the Guild.'

'Not some of us,' Ratcliffe agreed, 'but I am your host, it would be ill-bred to take advantage of a guest.'

'And when I'm no longer a guest?' Ellery said, looking up with trepidation at Ratcliffe's face.

'You'll be part of the Guild. We do have _honour_.'

'Ah,' Ellery said, quietly. 'I'm... not from a world that has honour.'

'You are now.'

Ellery ate quietly for some time, picking around the foods with milk in them. He tasted the wine, nervously. It wasn't so bad, certainly not as strong as he was used to wine being. Still not something he could drink to hydrate, though, and he was thirsty.

Ratcliffe pushed over the pitcher of water. 'Water it.'

'Thank you.' Ellery watered it quite a bit, and drained an entire cup silently. He was so _silent_ , in everything he did, so quiet. It made a man wonder why. 'So, other than meeting Milady, what else am I doing here?'

'What would you like to do?'

Ellery gave that some thought, much as he had the instinct to answer right away. 'Clothes,' he said first, pouring himself more wine. Ratcliffe chuckled. 'Clothes and then people. I need to be around people. It's tempting to not do anything and be alone to recover, but I, um, I should actually be around people, and doing things, so that I remember that I can function as a single person.'

'And that you _can_ do things.' Ratcliffe was no stranger to doing ordinary little things just to prove that he was allowed again.

' _Yes_ ,' Ellery said. 'Which is why I kind of want to start work as soon as possible. Or at least,' he amended, 'start training and practising the skills I'll need.'

'I'll speak to Milady. Perhaps you can come merely to observe, for now.'

'And to be observed. If the Small Council needs to assess my ability, that's the best way to do it, right?' He got up. 'But I know the Guild, because y'all influenced _me_. Style is everything. I can't show up looking like... this.' He gestured to the jeans and the hoodie, and his face, because his beard had gotten really out of hand.

Ratcliffe took the permission to look. He'd seen a little of the man's figure the day before, but Wiggins would be the one with the first look. Still, he enjoyed the view while it was offered.

'I believe some of the henchlings are familiar with the outside world,' was all he said. Ellery liked the sound of that. 'And the Guild secretary must look the part.'

'I know just what I need.'


	3. Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Ellery sings is called Midnight Train to Memphis. It's a blues song, my favourite version is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWnyq9p3rwM).

Wiggins took care of his clothes, and Ellery was thrilled with how well they fit when Wiggins and the other servants were done with them. The fabric was much finer and more comfortable than he was used to, and he felt like purring when it was all laced on. His legs. Looked. Amazing. Shoes were a little more of a problem, but they managed rather well, and Ellery was surprised at how comfortable he ended up being, even in heels.

Wiggins made sure he took whatever medicine he wanted to have, especially for pain, and did something to his hair that made it look curly and beautiful, and Ellery even let him use a straight razor on his beard, scary as that was. Cosmetics and other things, however, would need to be gotten from the outside. Wiggins agreed that others more familiar with the outside world were a must.

'But first,' he said, with some wickedness to his cheer. 'Downstairs. John is waiting.'

Ellery noticed the clothes making him move differently, and delighted in it; he loved that the clothes really did make you move in-period. He went downstairs, seeing Ratcliffe waiting in the hall. He knew how to sneak in heels, and did so, leaning at the foot of the stairs. Like him, Ratcliffe was wearing finer clothes than Ellery had seen him in before (well, in _person)_ , including a cape.

'I'm ready,' Ellery said, glad at how husky and velvet his own voice was. Ratcliffe turned, and actually _paused_ , eyes widening. Ellery pushed off the wall and crossed the distance between them, viscerally satisfied at the sound of his footsteps in his new shoes.

'I _know_ ,' Ellery said, as always feeling _much_ sexier in heels. He tossed his curls. 'Just think what I'll look like with _makeup_ . Nothing so grand as Maestro,' he splayed a hand on his chest, 'but he is my _inspiration_.'

Ratcliffe watched the gestures and the posing, and his lips pulled up on one side. 'Is he, now...' he murmured, liking every new layer Ellery revealed to himself. And those _legs!_

'Enjoy the view?' Ellery said, smirking.

'Immensely.'

'And here we are, about to be in _close quarters_ ,' Ellery said, wiggling like a cat about to pounce. 'La, what _ever_ shall we do?'

Ratcliffe narrowed his eyes, and backed Ellery up against the nearest wall, looking him up and down, seeing that bravado quell to something else, something sweet but no less true, completely gone like a snowflake in a warm hand as soon as Ratcliffe touched his face.

'What indeed...' Ratcliffe murmured, and kissed him, half-expecting to be pushed away. On the contrary, Ellery kissed back with enthusiasm--and no small amount of skill--giving delicious little sounds in his throat. When Ratcliffe pulled away, Ellery looked pleasantly dazed.

'Mmm...'

'Shall we?' Ratcliffe said, loving to be the more composed of a pair, straightening his hat and gesturing out the open door to the carriage.

Ellery _giggled_ , flushed and tingly all over and _he hadn't had this much fun in years_.

Inside the carriage, he had to contend with his inner ear interrupting his fun again, and leaned back, eyes closed, focussing on his breath.

He wondered who they were meeting, went through the henchlings he remembered, and wondered if the ones that had turned were still Good, or if they'd returned to their villainous masters. Meg seemed like a pretty lost cause, but Iago... Iago was less certain. Not that Ellery wanted Iago to accompany him, but better him than, say, Pain and Panic, or the hyenas.

As it turned out, it was none of them. They stopped in a very different place, a different city that felt far more Rococo, and in front of a house that had far more frilly crinkly bits in the architecture.

And music was coming from the house. Pipe organ music. Ellery felt breathless. 'Where are we?' he asked, not hearing any of his mood in his voice at all.

Wiggins, who had taken the reins, opened the door for them now. 'Come along, Ellery dear.'

Ellery loved the endearment, and climbed out of the carriage, Ratcliffe following. They went up to the house, the front garden planted with white oleander, purple foxglove, aconite, and even, hiding in the shade of a yew tree, some belladonna.

'Gorgeous,' said Ellery, looking at all the flowers and only recognising a few of them.

'Deadly,' Ratcliffe commented. 'Just like him.' The music stopped just before he rang the bell. The door opened and Ellery's breath caught at seeing Forte for the first time. Green eyes that faintly glowed looked at them both, but lingered on Ellery a second time. It was _very_ clear that he'd been outside this world, into Ellery's own, because Forte wasn't made up to match the eighteenth century at all, he was _contoured_ , with very modern shades of colour, that, and his wig and nails were also modern in quality, even if they'd been styled otherwise. It was breathtaking, Ellery had never seen a man so beautiful in real life.

'And who is this?' he sneered at Ellery.

'The new secretary,' Ratcliffe said, a little jealous of the awestruck look on Ellery's face, but savouring what he was about to drop into Forte's lap. 'Your most ardent admirer.'

Forte tore his gaze from Ellery to stare hard at Ratcliffe, then. They had been friends for long years--in as much as Forte _had_ friends, mostly they played chess and whist. 'You jest.'

'He doesn't,' Ellery said, firmly. 'I _am_. I've always wanted to hear your music. Please?'

Ratcliffe had begun to anticipate this, as soon as Ellery had mentioned Maestro Forte as his 'inspiration'. It was even clearer now. With one last warning glare at Ratcliffe, Forte let them in, watching Ellery carefully as he shut the door. He lived alone, he couldn't stand servants now, not after the Curse.

Ellery walked softly, even in his heeled shoes--and even with the Albish fashion (drab green and unadorned as it was) Forte could see his beauty. He was a soft boy, and would look so much better ornamented with lace and embroidery.

'Why did you bring him?' Forte asked, as they watched Ellery take in all the art--the paintings, and the sculptures of Votsali gods, and the frescos on the ceiling.

'Can I not simply bring you beautiful things?' Ratcliffe asked archly.

'Beautiful things, faugh, what would you know of beautiful things!' Forte replied, dismissively. 'What is he called?'

'Ellery Goodwin.'

' _Goodwin_ ,' Forte said contemptuously, lip curling. 'What sort of a name is that?'

'It's the name of a detective,' Ellery said, from a few yards away, where he was admiring a painting of [Cupidon](https://www.1st-art-gallery.com/William-Adolphe-Bouguereau/Cupidon-1891.html). 'So is Ellery.' He turned, hands behind him and clasped. 'I believe Ratcliffe brought me here because I mentioned needing paint and powder. Certainly, yours is the finest I've ever seen in my life.'

'Flattery will get you nowhere.'

'Is it flattery, if it's true?' Ellery challenged, taking a step forward. 'Maybe I should sing for you, would that satisfy you that I am no naive and sweet little macaron, to be crushed beneath your heel?' Where was this poetry _coming from_?

Forte gave him a long and considering look, at that offer, so sharply thrown down. 'Very well,' he said, smirking and leading them across the parquet to his music room, which took up the entire back of the house. He settled himself on the best seat for listening, and made a grandly-mocking gesture. 'Sing for me, little nightingale.'

To his surprise, he saw the boy's eyes darken with pleasure at the sarcastic endearment, and Goodwin bowed to him. Ratcliffe knew what would come, but Ellery seemed unperturbed, drawing himself up and beginning to sing.

_Well the judge looked down gave me forty days_

_For the fine that I could not pay_

_Said, 'Walk right, you'll soon be home._

_'Cross the line and you're on your own.'_

_Forty days of shotguns and barb-wire fences!_

_Forty nights to sit and listen to the midnight train to Memphis!_

Ellery hadn't known what song to sing when he'd offered, but when he took a breath the song poured out of him, and he poured out all his passion into it, breaking his voice with the volume, unafraid to sing at the top of his voice for a rare time--it was cathartic, blues. That was why he liked it most, why he sang blues most easily.

_Well the whistle blows when the sun comes up_

_Head to the floor keep your big mouth shut_

_Eat your breakfast on the ground_

_Work like hell til the sun goes down_

_Forty days of shotguns and barb-wire fences!_

_Forty nights to sit and listen to the midnight train to Memphis!_

Ratcliffe had... not expected the _wall_ of anger that came out of that pretty mouth, the way that voice scaled down and _roared_ , raw and forging pain into music. He was newly certain that Forte had not expected it either, from the stunned look on his face.

 _Ten for the jury,_ _**ten for the judge!** _

_Twenty for me to forget my grudge!_

_Once you get to thirty-nine_

_That's the longest day in a prisoner's mind_

_Forty days of_ _**shotguns and barb-wire fences** _ _!_

_Forty nights to sit and listen to the midnight train to Memphis_

_Midnight train to Memphis_

_Oh the midnight train to Memphis!!_

Ellery was stunned at the power he threw into the song, at the personal note it had taken; but it had been almost forty days of suffering, hadn't it? And while it wasn't the exact same--nothing ever was unless you wrote the song yourself--the emotions were, and that was the important thing. Shout-blues was not what he would have picked, but the, he realised, he should have faith in The Magic when it came to these things.

To think, he'd never scramble wildly to pick or remember a song again! But this thought paled in comparison to the silence that rang after the last note. He opened his eyes (he always closed them when he performed) only to catch Forte's in his own. He made himself not look away, made himself meet that intense gaze with his own.

' _Well_ ,' Forte said, with no little enthusiasm, one side of his mouth curling upward. 'You are _something_ , aren't you?'

'That--that means a lot from you, Maestro,' Ellery said, mortified at the tears blurring his vision. He ducked his head, trying to wipe them away surrepticiously, though he was never sure how people were supposed to do that successfully. He cleared his throat. 'Sorry,' he murmured, half to himself, covering his face with his hands the way he always did--a lifetime of wearing glasses meant he could never cover his eyes, but he covered his mouth and nose, and turned half-away, pacing, not wanting to show his expression, his vulnerability, to Villains; to The Loveless, especially.

He heard Forte's footsteps, his heels higher than Ratcliffe's, clicking not like thick heels, not like lacquered heels, but like _modern_ ones. Ellery looked down to see stilettos circling him, and hands just as strong as he'd always expected tilted his face up; and, suddenly, he was looking close into those witch-green eyes, swirling with magic.

'Do you know why I am not a part of the Guild, boy?'

Ellery stared into those eyes, and had never guessed it, but now....

He'd written something, once...

If Maleficent was the leader of the Guild, as he always assumed...

And Forte's magic came entirely from a curse wrought by an Enchantress, a fairy, then...

'She was the Enchantress,' he breathed. 'And you--you took the sword she pointed at you all, and began to wield it yourself.'

They were lines from a story he'd written and lost, lines that had come automatically to him, little bits of poetry that came out of the keyboard when he sunk very far into Creating. He went on in a hushed voice, in awe and terror and lust.

_'You stole fairy magic.'_

Without knowing why, high on emotion, Ellery surged forward as though pushed by an invisible hand, and kissed Forte, arms around his neck; and there was a rush in all of him, down to his _bones--_ was this was love at first sight felt like? Except... it wasn't first sight, was it? It was years, decades, pent-up and shelved as Impossible, a lost and crimson childhood dream coming true, right when his world was broken and he thought he'd lost everything.

He was aware of life in flashes of memory and intense emotions, sensations; but nothing was staying, nothing was forming a linear memory, not now. He heard music, somewhere, music that vibrated down in his chest, rewrote his pulse in tempo, and harmony that scorched his skin with five green claws.

The greatest villain of all time, the greatest of mages, and, now, the greatest and most clever of _thieves_...

Velvet-covered springs at his back, cold air on his skin, strong hands _yanking_ him by the hips...

'I need--'

'Do you know how long I've wanted--'

' _Shut up and fuck me!'_

Ellery only came back to reality with a gasp as he felt a cock slide home, to the hilt, and gasped, realising several things at once: he was on a divan, he was naked from the waist down, he was _screaming_ , raw and low and gorgeous, and clawing up the back of the one fucking him. Makeup perfect and hair a perfect mess, glowing green eyes glowed brighter for the shadow around them now, as Forte held himself over Ellery.

Ellery fell back into just  _doing_ and  _feeling_ gladly, unquestioning, uncaring of the whys and the hows, screaming as loud as he could, the warm, full, perfect slide of cock inside his cunt something he'd badly wanted for years, _especially_ from this man.

When it was over, the silence that fell was only punctuated by panting.

'Please, let that not be the last time we do that,' Ellery spoke first, feeling boneless and yet energised, satisfied; but definitely interested in more if more was on offer.

However, creeping anxiety was making itself known; until now, his transsexuality had not been obvious to anyone here; he wasn't sure if they'd known and were just okay with it, or if he'd been taken as cis. It was so hard to tell even in the outside world, nowadays.

Atop him, Forte caught his breath, tried to put the world back together, as he looked down at this boy that had just walked into his life and shattered everything.

No one remembered Forte. No one liked Forte. He was Forgotten, so he thought; and not only that, but Twice Cursed. He had never _meant_ to steal Maleficent's magic, had barely known what he was doing other than taking his pain and turning it to Art, as he always had. How was he to know that his Art _was_ magic of the most powerful kind?

It was years after the Curse, now; but unlike the others who celebrated, he'd been almost in hiding, far on the outskirts of the Kingdom, as far as he could get from _her_. He'd stolen some of her magic, and no matter how much she'd tortured him, how many years he'd spent in her dungeons after the Curse was first broken, she hadn't been able to rip it out of him and get it back.

Still... he wouldn't have given it willingly, even with all the pain, even if he could go back in time and do it all again. He would have taken it again, to feel the pipes in his blood, to have the bellows breathe when he breathed, to have his music like this, to... take the sword pointed at him and begin to wield it, himself. The boy's words were apt.

The others might bend the knee to Maleficent, out of terror or true respect; but Forte never would. So he surrounded himself with poisonous flowers, wove Iron into the foundations and the rafters, and went to the outside world as much as he could, and taught _himself_ , as he always had.

All along, someone had remembered him--someone had held him in their heart from the beginning, someone had suffered through all the years of childhood and adolescence, had seen the _other_ Villains... and picked _him_.

Forte did not like getting attached, but to have an ardent admirer in so beautiful a boy, so _powerful_ a voice, so raw and untamed and _untaught_ , forging music by his own hand... a Villain could like a kindred soul, that was allowed.

And a Villain could certainly fuck a soft and beautiful child of Hermaphroditus. 'Star of the Morning,' Forte panted. 'Let me adorn you.'

'Gladly,' Ellery answered back, breathless, and smiling to rewrite history.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nightingale is something my adoptive big sister calls me. No matter how mockingly it could be said, no one could ever make it truly register as an insult.


	4. Favourite Villains and Unwitting Powers

When they emerged onto the New York City street, Ellery braced for the rush of fear, only to realise the fear had never been his. The city was familiar; he'd lived there for four years, four years ago. The streets and the people were familiar, as was the rush of stimulation that was mania-inducing, euphoric until it overloaded your brain and you started to crack into schizophrenia. For Ellery, the threat of that had been what undid him, here. The lack of silence. But they were walking, and Forte was not out of place here, had never been, could never be.

Before they'd come, he'd changed into a very modern, very fashionable suit, slim as a knife and just as silver. He'd dressed Ellery in soft leggings and a shirt, lent him a coat, and Ellery was a little high on the fact that they were the same size, that he could borrow Forte's clothes--at least, the ones that weren't tailored to fit. Walking into the makeup store, Forte scanned the displays of black and more black, minimalist packaging with a familiar logo that Ellery knew was both more expensive than he could ever afford, and the highest quality possible. 

'Take a basket,' was all he said to Ellery when they got in the door, before starting further in.

Ellery did as told, and trailed along, and Forte went to work. He plucked colours without dallying like the other shoppers, holding them up to Ellery's face for just long enough to decide, putting them back or into the basket. Lipsticks, eyeshadows, brushes, pencils, palettes, bottles... the basket got fuller and fuller, and Ellery started to feel a little anxious as his mind tallied up how much it must all cost and get concerned the cost would fall to him. But Forte pulled out a black credit card, and paid, and they were outside again, Ellery holding the bag of cosmetics close. In the four years he'd lived in New York he'd never had anything stolen, but that didn't mean he wasn't always nervous when carrying valuable things around. 

Next was the subway, and Ellery's heart leapt; he'd thought he'd never ride the subway again. Forte smiled at the performers on the platform, and sat a little ways away, on one of the benches, taking a crisp hundred from his wallet and quietly folding it to obfuscate its value as he listened to the music, only standing to come forward and drop the finished rose into the hat when the train came. 

They took it to a familiar stop, more than a few performers coming into their car on the way; each time, Forte paid attention without seeming to, and left a rose in their hat, no matter how mediocre they were (there were a few). Ellery just enjoyed the city again, the subway being his favourite part, as it always had been. 

It was nice to not have to talk, given all the noise and the input going on. Ellery liked, too, that Forte didn't push him away when he leaned against him--by accident or because of the train's movement. 

It was night beneath the skyscrapers when they emerged from an older, minimal platform to a familiar street, and down a familiar path.

'Are we--do you know about  _ Marie's Crisis _ ?' Ellery asked, as they crossed the street, the familiar building, half-subterranean, visible. Forte waited until they got across the road, to stop and raise a brow at him.

'I lived here for four years,' Ellery said, 'I  _ loved _ this place--well, when it was all gays in here, and regulars. I wanted to  _ be _ a regular.'

'I am one,' Forte said, and went inside, down the steps. The night was just starting, so the noise wasn't unbearable yet; and Forte went to the piano, dropping an unfolded hundred inside the jar--this time, making sure its value was seen.

'Preston,' he said simply. 

_ 'Queeeeeen _ ,' said Preston, grinning and playing a riff. 'What do you want to hear?'

Ellery remembered Preston, but hadn't expected Preston to remember him--or even recognise him. He couldn't help feeling a little like sad about it, though; his dearest wish was to be a regular at  _ this _ bar, where the music was all showtunes. 

'I want to hear you sing,' Forte said to Ellery, and the room went soft, expectant. Preston played little riffs, improv while he waited to know what to play.

' _ Oooh _ , and what do you want to sing, honey?' he asked.

Ellery thought of the few songs he'd sung here; just before his voice had dropped, back when he sang soprano. He couldn't sing any of those now--well, maybe... 'Feed Me,' he said. He'd sung it once before, the last song of the night, when it was the lady pianist's night. But never at this time of night. 'I need a duet. Who wants to be Seymour?'

'Seymour!' Preston looked Ellery up and down. 'Girl, you sure you know all the words?'

Ellery gave a smirk. 'Yes,' was all he said. 

Forte returned Preston's look of doubt. 'Don't look at me, dear;  _ I'm _ not a tenor.' He looked over the youthful faces. 'Well?'

'I know the words,' said another regular, and Preston began to play. Ellery started with a bang and never let up, hitting every note because he'd been practising this song since he was a little kid, always wanting Audrey Two's part. Who wouldn't want to be a killer plant queen?

When the song was over, there was applause, and Ellery drank it in, for once not embarrassed or abashed, but proud of himself, and happy. 

They stayed for a few more songs, Forte letting Ellery pick them all, commanding the room as only an old queen could. He didn't sing, but sang with Ellery for the Sondheim ones, and Ellery delighted at his Sweeney Todd, and his Wolf. When Ellery asked if they could do 'a rare disney sondheim', and Preston said he didn't have the music, Forte sat down at the keys instead.

'Which one?' he asked.

'You're in the Doghouse Now,' Ellery said, and Forte started in the perfect range, and Ellery belted the song out in his best torch voice. It was the only song he'd ever done for an audition, and he'd never done it with  _ accompaniment _ before. 

They left, after that, and were  _ begged to stay _ \--even Ellery was given compliments on his voice, which was the only thing he ever truly wanted compliments on (at least, if people hadn't read his writing); but they left, all the same, and went to eat nearby.

'So what was that all about?' Ellery asked, when Forte had swiped his  _ other _ metro card and taken them to the  _ other _ subway, the one with the D train that didn't exist, on the line that had stops that weren't in New York. This train car was as empty as though it were four in the morning, despite it barely being nine at night, and the seats were plush, the interior carpeted and wood-panelled--and silent, no lights rushing past them, merely dark outside the windows. 

'The Kingdom is no place for men like us to wantonly  _ sing _ ,' Forte said simply, crossing his legs.

'Men like us,' Ellery repeated, wondering what exactly Forte thought they had in common.

'Men of  _ power _ ,' Forte said. 'Your music is as powerful as mine. You felt it in my music room, did you not? The way you controlled-- _ became _ \--the hand of destiny that controls us all.'

Ellery had to sit with that a while. 'Whoa,' he said. Forte chuckled, leaning back.

'She has no  _ idea _ what she's unleashed upon this world,' he said, and it had the sort of tone you expected to be punctuated with, Ellery thought, Weather. ' _ Secretary _ ,' he said a moment later, every phoneme  _ dripping _ with contempt.

'Hey, watch it,' Ellery said, surprised at how much, well,  _ New York _ was in the vowels. He decided to go with it. 'I  _ like _ bein' a secretary.' He sat back. 'Besides,' he added, 'secretaries are pretty powerful, thank you very much. We have all the  _ secrets _ .'

That got a raised brow. Ellery took it as a sign he'd gotten his point across. 

'It would be wisest not to mention to her that I'm your favourite,' Forte said. 

'Noted.' Ellery fussed with the shopping bag a while, then said, a little quieter. 'So, um, are we... going to fuck regularly, then? I would... really like to get to know you, you know, sexually. That sounds... fun.'

Forte smirked. 'The care you are taking to avoid talking about love is  _ darling _ .'

' _ I _ don't want love,' Ellery said, a little sharply. 'I just left my abusive husband and realised I've been dating emotionally abusive, narcissistic assholes my entire life. I am single for the first time  _ in my life _ . I am  _ thirty _ , that's  _ sad _ . So, it isn't about you being The Loveless, actually, it's about me and what  _ I _ don't want. I don't want a boyfriend, I want sex and flirting and friendship.'

There was a long pause, after this, and Ellery tried not to let the clawing anxiety make him talk more. 

'The Loveless?'

'Yes,' Ellery said, grateful to focus on explaining something. 'Or The Heartless, if you like. Every Villain has a...  _ thing _ , you know? I don't know how to explain it, like... a focus? With Yzma, it's Youth; with Jafar, it's Power; with you, it's...' he gesticulated. 'You're the Loveless.'

'You want a friend with benefits.'

It was so odd hearing him come out with that phrase. 'I...  _ guess _ , if you wanna be  _ euphemistic _ .' Ellery had always hated that term, mostly because he'd never heard it used without a tone of disapproval or mocking.

Forte chuckled, a shadow of his true Laugh; it still  _ did things _ to Ellery, and Forte could tell by the way his heartbeat quickened, his breath stuttering slightly. He reached out a hand, tucked a curl behind Ellery's ear, trailed his fingertips along the edge of it, then down that long neck.

'You are worth so much more than he understood,' he said, and pulled Ellery's head onto his shoulder when Ellery burst into tears. 

-

When they got back to Forte's house, they were in a companionable kvetching session-slash-argument about Andrew Lloyd Webber. 

'Cats was a perfectly good revue-format musical  _ because he didn't write the lyrics _ ,' Ellery said. 'He had to conform to really marvellous poetry and so the music was elevated to that level.' 

'It's still the same repetitive, five-note dreck,' Forte insisted, delighted to have an arguing partner who  _ understood _ how to do it.

'Yes but somehow it's  _ good  _ reptitive dreck,' Ellery said, as they went up the steps and Forte keyed open the door. 'It was my first musical, give me a break here.'

'The lyrics are worthy, the music is not.'

'Then rewrite the music,' Ellery challenged.

Forte gave him a very blank stare. 'Rewrite the music,' he echoed flatly. 

'Yeah. If you don't like canon, try fanfic. Fan _ work _ , in this case,' he amended. 'I do it all the time. I did it with you.'

Forte knew this was true; he'd put together the pieces from Ellery's mention that he was a writer, that he wrote fanfic, the sheer fact that he was  _ here _ and therefore more interested and passionate about the Kingdom than most who were interested in it. That meant, naturally, he'd written things about Forte. 'Erotic things?'

'I've tried. Had to do those with my best friend. We put you into Westeros. That went well. You took over and got a pet Dornishman.' Ellery wondered if any of that made sense to Forte. From the laugh, however, it did. That spurred him on, and his voice got more enthusiastic again, as did his gestures. 

'I wrote a big long novel with you when I was nineteen, a gay rewrite of the whole Curse and breaking thereof. Belle wasn't the curse-breaker, there was a boy. I wish I still had that one.'

'What happened to it?'

'It got deleted in a fit of shame. Most of my novels go that way. I wonder now if it wasn't shame but...' he shook his head. 'Whatever. Not thinking about That Man.' He looked at Forte askance. 'Make me stop thinking.'

Forte raised a brow. 'Are you certain you know what you're asking?'

'Fuck me senseless is what I'm asking.' 

'If you insist.'

-

Ellery reflected, lazing in bed with Forte afterward, feeling his hands trail over Ellery's skin, that it was nice to bed a real sensualist, someone who didn't rush through sex to orgasm and then immediately want twelve more in an endless chain, and after they were done they had to shower and wanted nothing whatever to do with cuddling because they'd exhausted themselves to the point of passing out. 

God, why had he stayed with that man? Oh right, because he'd had nowhere to go and no one else to turn to. 

Well, Ellery thought to himself firmly, no matter; Forte was behind him, warm and nibbling lazily at his neck, trailing hands over his sides and, occasionally, squeezing his hip or pulling him closer.  _ Luxuriating _ in afterglow, drawing it out. After the sex itself, it was wonderful. 

'I may not let you go back,' Forte murmured, voice--god and it was possible--even  _ more _ shiver-inducing, all throaty and fucked out as it was. 

'Mmmm,' Ellery said, not disagreeing. 'But if I don't go back, I can't fuck everyone else.'

A chuckle. 'Why would you want to do that?'

'I'm a slut at heart, Carmine.'

Forte smiled, much appreciating that someone had finally given him a name. He'd eschewed picking one for himself because the discomfort with his name, the permanent incompleteness, meant he was harder to control by magic. But in the throes of passion, Ellery had screamed 'Carmine' and it had clicked into place so  _ comfortably _ . 

It was almost as gratifying as the passionate love Ellery had for his music. Having received such a gift, Forte was surprised at how content he was with life. He'd always fantasised about scads of admirers, but apparently just one beautiful, talented boy was enough. After some thought, he supposed it made a kind of sense--casual delight spread over hundreds, or having it all bottled up in one person who made their own Art about you, who carried you around as a kind of ideal lover? Mmm, he'd rather have that. 

And if it was a bad habit for the boy to fall into, getting so attached so soon after what he'd been through? Well,  _ Forte _ wouldn't be the one to argue him out of it; who was  _ he _ to decide that sort of thing? The heart wanted what it wanted, and Ellery's clearly couldn't hold all the affection it generated, nor turn it in on himself. And, anyway, Forte was a Villain, and therefore Selfish. Having someone who held you above all the rest was the sweetest victory, was all Forte himself wanted--was all, he would dare to assert,  _ any _ artist wanted. 

When Ellery got up to go down and get something to eat, Forte went over to the locked wardrobe he kept his modern things in, and got out his tablet. The outside world was full of music, and when he'd seen Preston using a tablet to store his sheet music, he'd immediately gone out and bought one himself, sitting with the merchant and diligently learning how to use it. Now, with repeated trips and keen observation of conversations, as well as simply googling everything, he'd learnt how to use it as wella s anyone in Ellery's world. 

Ellery had been glad to tell him about his pseudonym, and Forte searched it, starting to read what little was left. It revealed a great deal--he saw danger and darkness in the Kingdom where others did not, and understood more than even the few other outsiders who worked in it. 

Forte liked him, but he wondered, too, about the power Ellery wielded so unknowingly. He wasn't just a 'fan', he had been born and raised in the Kingdom, as much as one could be so. And he, Forte could not help repeating this in his mind, loved most  _ Forte _ . 

Perhaps Forte might have an ally against Maleficent's wrath... a way into the Guild, to recognition... 

Ellery Goodwin bore close watching.

 


	5. Doorsteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellery goes back to a Bad Place; but he has people--and a mission from gods--to pull him out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note there is suicidal ideation and an attempt, in this chapter. This chapter also goes into my experiences with Lexapro/SSRIs. _My own, personal, experiences._ What is said here is based on a sample size of one (1), and is therefore subjective and _I am wholly aware of this, you don't need to lecture me on how some people do perfectly well on SSRIs/Lexapro._ This chapter isn't about everyone else, it's about _me_. /PSA driven by tumblr-culture.
> 
> Also in this chapter: casual conversations about murder, cigarettes as a not-great-but-better-than-suicide-attempts coping mechanism, and some homophobia.

The week passed, and Ellery fell in love with Kingsait, dangerous as it was for him to be there. He practised writing with quills, delighted to learn despite the difficulty of writing left-handed, and started to learn dictation. He declined going to the first meeting he was present for, wanting to stay home and practise improving his writing speed. Dictation was _hard_.

He got a paycheque on Wednesday, which startled him quite a bit. He hadn't signed anything, and the cheque was a personal one, not a payroll cheque. It was accompanied by a letter from the Mouse himself, asking Ellery to meet him at the Ink and Paint that afternoon, to go over the hiring paperwork.

That afternoon was the run to get supplies they didn't have here, like acetone and white alcohol, but Wiggins said they could absolutely run their errands and be back in time.

As it happened, there was a long line at the bank, and an extra stop because Ellery needed to change his address. HE also realised, in a panic, that he didn't have his identification papers.

'They're with my _ex_ ,' he said, in a hushed voice, as he had realised it while they were standing in line at the post office. 'What am I going to _do?'_

'What's his name?' Wiggins asked, mildly.

'Oh gosh, did I never say?' Ellery murmured, half to himself, and told him. A beat later, he realised what he'd done, and was startled, then scared, then backed that fear up and remembered what Wiggins had told him only the night before, after putting Ellery through his paces quite thoroughly.

_Ellery was panting, his thighs and cunt stinging-warm from the crop, his legs shaking with overuse he knew he'd feel in the morning, Wiggins rubbing something warm over his legs and feet while Ellery lay, helplessly exhausted, across his bed, still wearing the leather Wiggins had made him put on earlier (not that Ellery had objected)._

_'You're such a skilful lover, dear boy. It's lucky divorce is a legal possibility, otherwise things would have to get so messy...'_

Ellery saw the dark fire curl Wiggins' lips, even as the taller man was assiduously looking at his phone screen.

He didn't say no.

He didn't say yes, but he didn't say no. The opposite of love wasn't hate, after all.

It was apathy.

Was it Right? Who cared, Ellery thought; there was something so morally liberating about hanging out with a bunch of literal Villains, hanging out with people for whom The Right Thing To Do didn't matter. It had been, he realised, so _long_ that he'd lived under the tyranny of always _having_ to do the Right Thing, otherwise he wasn't allowed to be happy. Always having to _want_ to do the Right Thing.

Well, he _didn't_ want to! Nobody did _all_ the time, and it didn't matter what anybody else did _anyway_ , because what mattered was what _he_ wanted to do. And what he didn't want to do. He didn't want to be A Good Person, and protest for the sake of looking like one. He wanted to just not be responsible for what other people decided to do, whether they did it on his behalf or not, whether he appreciated it or not.

As they were getting back on the road, Ellery in the front seat, he said, 'I don't care what any of you do, as long as I don't get in trouble for it.'

‘That’s the spirit,’ Wiggins said with a dark little smile.

-

Ellery was, in the end, glad he had a week; by the time the next Wednesday rolled around, he’d realised a lot of things over the very close one-on-one dinner conversations he had with Ratcliffe, and he wouldn’t have wanted to realise any of them while he was working.

‘Ellery?’ Ratcliffe paused at the doorway, seeing Ellery looking far too seriously at a cup of tisane.

...Especially the one on Tuesday about how he was, now that he was out of the hospital, completely unable to orgasm, and that hadn’t seemed like a huge deal when he’d talked to the nurse about it, but now... now it had been two weeks. Two weeks.

‘I can’t feel pleasure,’ Ellery said, looking at the teacup.

Ratcliffe came one step closer; there was danger in this room, but as yet, he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. And Ellery was being cryptic, he was never cryptic....

Unfortunately, Ratcliffe had no idea how to reply; for all appearances, Ellery could—and did—feel pleasure. Often. In _his_ bed. ‘No?’ he said.

‘Nothing against you,’ Ellery said, with a flash of his usual self. ‘Nothing against you. I just. Um. Made this tea. You have deadly poison in your garden, you know. Foxglove.’

 _That_ was why Ratcliffe had that creeping feeling, like he was in the presence of Death, like shadows darkened the room, despite the unseasonal beams of sunlight that Ellery seemed to have brought with him to Albion.

‘Because,’ Ellery said, ‘if I can’t orgasm, there’s no _fundamental_ reason to live. That sounds stupid,’ he said, half to himself.

‘No,’ Ratcliffe said. ‘It doesn’t sound stupid.’

‘Am I being impatient?’ Ellery asked him. ‘I know I’m impatient. It’s been at least two weeks since I’ve had one. It’s been more since I’ve had one regularly. Having sex can be nice without it, but not... not _as_ nice.’

‘I can imagine. What’s causing it?’

‘The Lexapro, probably,’ Ellery said. ‘It’s my mood stabiliser. Of course, the chief side-effect of a mood stabiliser is not being able to come—in which case, what is the _fucking point of feeling better and more stable if you can’t enjoy it!’_

Ah, good, he was angry. That was a good sign. Certainly, it was better than the dull monotone from before. Ratcliffe, by now, knew enough about the matter to know that simply stopping some of the medicines Ellery took—stopping suddenly—was not an option. But, surely, there was a way to stop taking them, somehow? He was sorely out of his depth, despite how readily Ellery explained everything. But if he kept Ellery talking, he could stall for time.

Ratcliffe was good at stalling for time.

‘This only proves your point from last night, you know,’ he said, companionably, forcing himself to look relaxed, to move closer, to sit down across from Ellery as though they were simply having a conversation like any other.

‘Hm?’

‘About the incompetence of the hospital’s format.’

‘Ohhh,’ A true laugh, then, however sarcastic. ‘I want to make it stop,’ Ellery said, frustrated and clenching his fists in his lap over and over. Ratcliffe had learnt that, unlike most men, Ellery’s anger was never violent. It was tense, it was certainly something that wanted to take _action—_ but he’d never slammed a fist on a table, or against a doorframe, or even shouted _at_ anyone. He shouted, of course, but not _at_ someone. ‘But I can’t just _stop,_ you’re not supposed to just—to just _stop_ , unless you’re feeling suicidal.’

‘You made foxgove tisane. That’s not feeling suicidal?’

‘I only feel suicidal because I can’t have an orgasm! That’s not... that’s not what that means, right? You have to feel _suicidal_ suicidal.’

The argument was completely mad, but the entire Guild was aware that Ellery had just come out of an asylum, and after living with him for a week (less the day and night that Forte had him), Ratcliffe was starting to realise that madness and sanity were far closer together than people thought. Emotion was a form of madness that afflicted everyone just the same, after all, and emotion was necessary in order to be _human_.

‘I think you are discounting the importance of orgasm.’ The word was not a foreign one, not now.

Ellery sat with that for a while, then smiled. ‘Goddamn Puritanical _bullshit,’_ he said, with feeling. He broke eye-contact with Ratcliffe. ‘You’re damn right, I’m no Christian, to think sex isn’t important.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’m a _pagan_!’

‘You are.’

‘Say it!’ Ellery demanded, grinning sharp and dangerous in a wholly different way. ‘Say it, I need to hear you say it.’

This was a peculiar endearment Ellery liked from him—not that it was a traditional one. ‘Savage.’

‘Ha! Yes! Savage as a goddamned _beast! Damn right._ I need to go to a temple,’ he said, calmer. He went to pick up the teacup. ‘I’m not going to drink this, I swear, I’m just going to get rid of it,’ he said, moving slowly over to throw the tea into the fire. He went back over, set the teacup down, and sat on Ratcliffe’s lap, leaning against him, a hand resting lightly on his chest. ‘Thanks for talking me down,’ he said, quietly.

‘It would be a great pity to lose you,’ Ratcliffe answered, hands settling on his hips to hold him there. They were generous hips.

‘Kiss me, and then take me to Votsala.’

Ratcliffe obliged; he’d wanted to as soon as Ellery sat on his knee, but given the circumstances, it had seemed wiser to refrain. ‘Votsala?’

‘Well,’ Ellery said. ‘I need to talk to the god of medicine.’

Ratcliffe thought. Hades and he were not on the best terms; they simply didn’t get along. Ratcliffe found the god vulgar and ill-mannered, and Hades found Ratcliffe stiff and overly formal. It was sure Hades would do nothing to make travel to Votsala easier, and Ratcliffe had no inclination toward charming savage gods.

‘Do you think you can endure until this evening?’ he asked. The Guild met this evening, mostly in the hope that Ellery would appear, and Hades was sure to have heard from the Guild’s gossip network that he was a favourite of the new secretary—that he was _worshipped_ by him.

‘Why, what’s this eveni—oh the _meeting_ , right, it’s on Wednesdays.’ He leaned his head against Ratcliffe’s shoulder for a while, thinking. ‘Yeah, I’d like to go. Is that... is that the easiest way to get to Votasala from here?’

‘Currently.’

‘Cool. Well, lemme start on my face, then. Glad I didn’t shave this morning...’ He kissed Ratcliffe again, shorter this time, but no less sweet, and climbed off his lap, trotting into the hallway. ‘Wiggins!’ he shouted. He’d taken to the method of summoning servants rather immediately, and with enthusiasm.

-

Ellery wore the clothes Forte had gotten with him. The composer had been indulgent, and taken Ellery to Target rather than somewhere more upscale, since Ellery was _famliar_ with Target. They’d spent hours shopping, and Forte had helped mostly by reminding Ellery to _sit down_ , so his feet wouldn’t go into a flare-up of agony. The exchange, of course, was letting Forte take Ellery to more upscale clothiers, and play dress-up with him. Ellery had gotten three suits this way, one of them formal, and all of them tailored to fit Ellery’s unique measurements. He picked the brown one for tonight, and the bright turquoise shirt, and the golden and brown tie with seahorses. He’d been so surprised to be able to find another, but Forte was some kind of shopping _god_. He’d even been able to find Ellery beautiful shoes that didn’t hurt his delicate feet.

The end result? Ellery felt like he was dressed well enough for Hannibal Lecter’s dinner parties, and he’d taken Forte’s advice and taken three hours to do his face, so he had plenty of time to make mistakes. He’d made a few, and it was hard to wash it off and do it again; but he’d done it, and had even dared false eyelashes, carefully adjusting and perching his glasses so they wouldn’t interfere.

The lashes took the longest, but he went slowly, talked himself through it patiently, and the end result was, he thought, very pretty. The whole thing was very pretty, from the lipstick to the soft contouring, which he’d been surprised to find was really easy and fun to do, when you had decent materials and media to work with. And it went beautifully with the suit. All he needed now, Ellery thought, was a set of acrylic nails. But that was for his first paycheque. For now, his nails were still long and beautifully shaped.

He just had no idea what to do with his hair. He needed Wiggins for that. He went to find him, and found Wiggins currently doing Ratcliffe’s hair. Ellery smiled, tapping on the doorframe.

‘I’m next, yeah?’

He enjoyed the way his shoes sounded on the wooden floor, as he walked into view. ‘What do you think?’ He knew Ratcliffe had dnever seen him do full contouring before, because he’d never been brave enough before. But post-suicidal mentality was always a huge dose of not fearing anything, for Ellery. The surprise in those two faces was gratifying.

‘Beautiful boy,’ Ratcliffe murmured, and Wiggins hummed in agreement, as he arranged a scarlet ribbon to hang just so in Ratcliffe’s black locks.

Ellery’s grin warmed, and he blushed a little; even casually flirting with them, he was reminded how long it had been since his ex had said he was beautiful. It was the kind of presence that rattled down into the sheer absence you hadn’t realised was a growing pit until someone tossed a stone into it. ‘I will never tire of you calling me that,’ he said.

‘You’e going to incite quite the fight over you, you know,’ Wiggins said. ‘We may have difficulty keeping you as a guest.’

‘Oh _no_ ,’ Ellery said, with camp exagerration in his lilting tone. ‘How _tragic_.’

-

Ellery was nervous, as he followed his hosts into the meeting room. It was Maleficent’s castle, in the middle of the Thornwood, and he wasn’t sure what to expect from the gathering—at least, for himself. He’d written lots on the Guild, hadn’t expected it to really be... _real_. And now he was walking into a nest of vipers....

Well, wait a moment, wasn’t _he_ a snake? He was coming _home_ , he reminded himself, and again pulled up his posture. It was a little easier to keep himself standing straight when he was in a suit.

‘You look magnificent,’ Wiggins said in a low voice, just before they got to the Great Hall.

‘Ready?’ Ratcliffe asked.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ Ellery said, because it was true. He straightened his posture one last time, and took a breath.

The Hall was lit by moonlight and flames from four great fireplaces, and on the dais was Maleficent herself, tall and with horned henlin and dagged sleeves and _gorgeous_ , her raven on a perch by her throne. Ursula was in a pool that glowed from within, and her skin shifted with colour and bioluminescent light as she spoke with Yzma, who was tall and elegant as a cat, her headdress shimmering with feathers. Hook and Jafar were playing at some board game that looked like—but wasn’t—chess, both sipping steaming mugs of something. Iago was nowhere to be seen, but Ellery wasn’t surprised. Dr Facilier was leaning back in his chair, reading a book propped up on a stand, his shadow dancing in the light. Ellery deftly stepped back as it lunged for him, but didn’t make eye-contact. He didn’t want flirtation, not until he was done taking in the room...

‘Ellery Goodwin,’ Maleficent purred the name, and Ellery felt the power she wielded over him, with it. She leaned forward, and Ellery felt all conversations cease, all eyes turn to him—some hungrily, Ellery was sure. ‘Well, well...’ She looked him over. ‘My, you _are_ transformed.’

Ellery found it easy to flash a smile of genuine pleasure. ‘It’s all my own work, I assure you.’ He bowed to her. ‘Silessa.’

Scandalised whispers of gasps flew through the room; Ellery wondered why, had a heart-clutching moment of panic, before Maleficent’s voice cut through them.

‘You know my _proper_ title! What a delightful creature you are. Come,’ she said, and motioned to her right side, as the raven was on the left. There was a little black desk, and a chair, both had not been there a moment ago—or had they? ‘Sit.’

Ellery climbed the steps to the dais, and settled in the chair, feeling exposed (and still wondering what everyone's reaction to the word 'Silessa' was about); but busying himself by looking in the drawers, which slid smoothly and were lined in green felt.

‘This is nice,’ he said, and, gathering his courage, got up. ‘But I’m not ready to start yet. I um, had a close call this afternoon. I came to observe, and I’ll be leaving with Hades tonight, if that’s okay with Him,’ Ellery added. ‘I need to go to Votsala.’

‘Of course,’ Maleficent said, and gave him a rather penetrating gaze. Ellery tensed, but tried to just let her look. ‘And if Hades does not appear?’

Ellery glanced around the room, taking in those he’d missed the first time. Ratcliffe was sitting now with Scar—not someone Ellery would have predicted, but it did make sense—and Grimhilde, and Lady Tremaine, and Frollo. Hades was, indeed, nowhere to be found.

Ellery thought on this. Who could help? Who could he trust to help? Without Hades as a possibility, what could he do? Well... Ursula was part of his religion, but untrustworthy. Facilier was a fellow pagan, but likely didn’t trust _Ellery_ , and no one else would be sympathetic... so, he had to start thinking of counterparts.

And thent he answer was obvious. ‘Then I’m leaving with the Judge, and we are _not_ speaking to one another, because I just need to get to the Cathedral and talk to the bell-ringer. I need to emphasise we are _not. Speaking. To one another. About anything but the weather._ ’

He levelled a gaze at Ellery. ‘The weather. Agreed.’

‘Good.’ All the same, Ellery did not need to be in the presence of Christianity right now. That was probably the worst thing.

‘What’d I miss—ooh.’

‘Your Grace!’ Ellery said, relieved beyond measure to hear Hades’ voice from the shadows behind him—relieved even to startle at the sound of them. He had a hand over his heart, all the same. ‘Ah—it’s—so good to see you. Like this.’

‘There’s another way you’d—ahhh jeez, sorry I asked. Nevermind. So, you’re the new kid, huh?’ He glided forward, a drink in one hand. ‘Ellery right? Nice suit.’

‘I need to leave with you, to Votsala,’ Ellery said, wanting to get this sorted out right away, so he could relax. ‘I need to go to one of Apollo’s temples after the meeting. Please,’ he added.

‘Yeah, you do,’ Hades said, settling down in his usual place by Ursula and Yzma.

‘Thank you,’ Ellery said.

‘If you aren’t taking notes, then I suppose you may sit where you please,’ Maleficent said, almost kindly, Ellery thought. He contemplated the politics of this, and decided on the safest decision, which was to, quietly, go and kneel at Hades’ hem.

It was his first political move, Ratcliffe thought; and he’d done extremely well for an opening gambit. Not currying favour too obviously, establishing that this choice was religious, rather than personal. It left his options open for later.

‘Apollo is the god of medicine,’ Dr Facilier said, seemingly idly, ‘if I recall correctly.’

‘Among other things,’ Ellery said, not wanting to admit anything detailed. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he added.

‘Flattery doesn’t get you anywhere with me, white boy.’

‘Okay. I’m still glad there's another person who lays the cards, here.’ Ellery said, with a shrug.

‘I find myself curious,’ Jafar said, in a tone that heralded trouble, it was so silken. ‘As to what, exactly, caused you to delay prayer so long?’

‘You know Hades and I don’t get on, Jafar,’ Ratcliffe said, just as calmly.

‘Sometimes you need to pray in a temple,’ Ellery said. ‘I’m a tarot reader and a singer, so Apollo is one of my patr—nnnnnng.’ Ellery was interrupted by Hades’ fingers sliding through the curls at the nape of his neck. He leaned hard against Hades’ leg, biting his lip and dipping his head, offering more to caress. The humiliation was delicious, especially because he knew—he _knew—_ that they’d all _fought over him_. What had Ratcliffe told them in the meeting last week? He wondered; he knew they’d have grilled the man on Ellery, Ratcliffe had already made clear that Ellery was the most exciting event to have happened since Elsa had shown up at their door one evening (Maleficent had sent her away, but not after a long and private conversation, the contents of which nobody knew; but Ellery could guess).

‘We’ve heard _so much_ about you already, cuttlefish,’ Ursula purred. Ellery, flooded with endorphins, was practically purring at the way Hades was gently, slowly, scratching the sensitive place right at the base of his skull and nape of his neck with those long, gorgeous fingers that apparently also had really long, gorgeous nails.

‘Have you, now,’ he said, glad his voice came out husky and purring in return. Good, slut mode was booting up...

‘So many things,’ Yzma said, happily observing as she stirred her cocktail, crossing her legs.

‘Mmmmmwhat kinds of things?’ Ellery asked. Hey, if they were going to make this meeting about him, that was... that was fine with him, honestly.

‘That you’re a fairy, for one thing,’ came a voice that startled Ellery with an American accent—and a New York one, at that. Sitting by the fire, cigar on his lip, was... oh, Ellery realised, seeing the pair of dobermans. Right. Sykes. He felt his hackles raise, and fought back the childish urge to growl. He didn’t mind being called a fairy, normally, but he knew Sykes from a much more violent version of the story, and couldn’t help hating this one for it. He hated people who abused, but most were the ones that beat women to death.

‘Fairies are dangerous,’ Maleficent said in a low, soft voice.

‘Yeah,’ Ellery said, ‘we might _get gay all over you_ , and then _convert you_.’

‘Can that... actually happen?’ Gaston asked, from where he sat near Yzma. Ellery turned a growingly wicked smile on him, and raked a gaze up and down the hunter.

‘Why don’t we _find out?_ ’ he said, finding it easy to camp it up, now.

Gaston reared back like a startled horse. ‘I—um, no.’

‘Awww, are you _sure?_ ’ Ellery said, pouting with all the confidence of someoen who knew he was hot. He _was_ hot. The great irony here was that, being trans, he had exactly the kind of genitalia Gaston was used to, and yet was still being treated as anathema. It was the kind of affirming that Ellery liked.

Also, he was finally able to channel just as much Dr Frank as his little gay heart apparently wanted, and it was _glorious_.

‘I’m—very s—’

‘Only you’re so _handsome_ and...’ Ellery eyed that chest, and made a _noise_ , ‘ _Muscly_.’ Let’s see what he made of that. Oooh, the conflict!

‘Well, yes,’ he said, his vanity unsure what to make of this. ‘I... I know, but—’

‘This is delicious,’ Yzma said in an undertone, watching Gaston go through what must have been torture for his tiny little brain. She leaned over to Ellery. ‘I like you.’

‘Thank you, Doktor,’ Ellery said, because he’d always known she was not just any kind of scientist, but a _mad_ scientist. Really, the only one in the Disney pantheon. ‘I _know_ you and I can _appreciate_ the tragedy it is, when such a _perfect_ specimen is so...’ He sighed. ‘ _limited_.’

‘Wholly,’ she said, smiling.

‘You had that in your house?’ Lady Tremaine asked Ratcliffe in a low tone, surprised. Ellery bristled at being called a _that_ , but on the other hand... it was better than _she_ , he realised when he examined his feelings on it. Ratcliffe only raised a brow at her in reply. It was best to answer her with silences, he’d found, when she asked questions like _that_.

Kronk was, meanwhile, finding himself being looked at by Gaston. ‘You wouldn’t,’ Gaston said, haltingly. ‘Would you?’

‘I’m, uh, I’m married,’ Kronk said.

‘Yes, but—you know, if you _weren’t_ married.’ Gaston knew by now that Kronk was one of those men that was actually so in love with his wife that he never went whoring.

‘But I am. Married.’ Kronk had found it was best to feign stupidity during uncomfortable questions like this.

‘I wouldn’t fuck you, Kronk,’ Ellery assured him, patting his bare thigh from where he still sat at Hades’ hem. ‘You’re not my type.’

‘How is _he_ not your type?’ Gaston was frustrated, relieved to be angry at something.

‘Gaston, I’m _hurt_.’ Ellery said, as scandalised as a matron aunt, hand splayed on his chest. ‘You really think I’m a _homewrecker?_ ’

‘That’s what creatures like you _are_ ,’ Lady Tremaine commented.

Ellery could have gotten angry; but, and maybe it was the Lexapro dampening everything down, but he just didn’t see the advantage to it, at this point. ‘That’s rich, coming from the Queen Homewrecker.’

Okay, maybe he was a little _too_ chilled out; but he couldn’t show fear, not here, not now. Hades’ hand in his hair stopped caressing, and wrapped around the back of his neck. Somehow, it felt more protective than warning, like a calming warmth to ground him. Ha. Ground him, well, considering Hades’ realm, that was fitting....

_Let your guard down, cher, tsk tsk tsk..._

The whisper was like someone was right by his ear, and he felt the strange sensation of someone without any weight touching him, sliding hands everywhere without ruffling his clothes.

_What are you hiding? Why do you need to see your shining sun-god, hmm? It ain’t to talk about the Cards or that voice of yours..._

Shadow, this had to be Shadow. Ellery tried not to look too glazed over, though he had a feeling it was obvious to everyone what was happening.

 _Oooh, now ain’t **this** interesting _...

Ellery felt fingers dip into his cunt, without so much as a by your leave; but Shadow already had his consent, really. That was why he’d dodged Shadow the first time, was because he needed to... ohgod... He closed his eyes, shivering and—then, quite suddenly, reality came crashing down on him.

‘It won’t work,’ he said, and no one was more disappointed than he was. Shadow could somehow feel that, or hear it, something, and pulled away. Ellery looked up at Hades, feeling suddenly right at the edge of something far less pleasant than orgasm. ‘Can we go, Your Grace?’ he said, not even able to cry. ‘Please. I need to go, right now.’ He glanced at Ratcliffe across the room. ‘Tell them. Doctor Facilier didn’t do anything wrong, I just—need to go talk to Apollo. Now.’

Hades could see what Ellery was trying not to mention; he’d seen it the second he’d arrived. ‘Yeah... show’s over, boys and ghouls,’ he murmured, subdued even for him, and pulled them both into shadows that _didn’t_ talk.

-

They stepped out of the dark into the moonlit street in front of the steps to the temple Hades knew, just by looking, that Apollo liked best.

‘Can’t take you to make a housecall, kiddo.’

‘I know, Your Grace. Thank you for taking me to the temple.’

‘You better not come see me afterwards.’

Ellery thought. ‘You smoke, right?’ he asked, carefully.

‘Yeah?’

‘It would... it helps to have cigarettes. That way I can have one, and I know it’s killing me that little bit. It’s not a _great_ coping mechanism, but it works as a safety valve.’

‘You, uh, you wanna get more specific?’

‘Djarum blacks with sweetened paper,’ Ellery said, and batted his lashes. ‘Please? Pretty please?’

Hades handed him a box. ‘Don’t beg me like that until you fix whatever this is that you need Mr Teen Heartthrob Of The Year For A Millenia Running for.’

Ellery hugged him before he lost the nerve, and put the cigarettes in the inside pocket of his suit coat. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ He bowed and went up the steps, his silhouette looking incongruous among the columns and statuary. Hades wondered what he looked like, under all those clothes. He wondered what exactly was _wrong_. Something serious, but he couldn’t put a finger on what.

His best chance was Ratcliffe, and the meeting. He stepped through darkness, and went back.

-

‘There’s _drugs_ that make that happen?’ Gaston was horrified, even considering Ellery’s demeanour. ‘How... long has he been having to _take them_?’

‘I am more concerned that he was put on them by people supposed to be _healing_ him,’ Yzma said, disgusted. ‘Everyone expects a mortician to make the dead look alive; but to make the living feel _dead_...’

‘There is far more to life than the temptation to sin,’ Frollo said.

‘Not if that’s how you reach God,’ Facilier said, still listening to all that Shadow had gleaned from Ellery’s surface thoughts, from _his_ shadow. You learned quite a bit from what people kept in their shadows—secrets, lies, and always, always sex and religion, things you never told anybody but God—and things you never even told God. However, in Ellery’s case, his heart was open to his gods, just not to anyone else. He was hiding... oh, _lots_ of strange and interesting deviances, not just his interest in men....

And he’d been telling the truth when he said he was glad to see Facilier; that was the most surprising of all, really. He did read the cards, even though he was yet a novice, and could only read the major arcana without help.

-

Ellery sat in front of the altar, alone. ‘I don’t have what I usually offer you,’ he said, ‘That’s... that’s why I’m here right now. They took it from me. I don’t know how to get it back, I...’

He looked down. ‘They gave me this medicine, they said it was supposed to help my depression, but now I can’t feel desire. I can’t... I can’t worship. They took it out, covered it up with a blanket of chemicals and I just... I can’t even cry. I mean, crying is hard normally but... please,’ he said, ‘please, please help me. I don’t know who to ask, I need to get this medicine out of me without hurting myself. I’m not supposed to stop taking it suddenly, but I don’t know what to do. I’m _scared_ , Big Brother. Please, help me. You’re the only one of my patrons I can still talk to, they—they took away Eros and Loki, I can’t _pray_ to them without orgasms, Apollo, please. I’ll—I’m going to _die_ if you don’t.’

He didn’t expect an answer right away; he didn’t expect an answer at all, he just... needed to try. He got to his feet, brushing himself off and leaving the temple, walking aimlessly along the street.

‘I can’t heal this,’ came a voice Ellery knew, instinctively, was Apollo; there was a soft glow like violet sunshine, and he turned toward it to see the god standing there before him, beautiful, His brows turned up in sorrow and regret, full lips pursed in consternation. ‘But there is someone who can, and I can try and help you reach Him. Well,’ he said, with a wry twist of a smile. ‘My little brother can try and help you reach Him. Something... happened to Him.’

Ellery narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion. ‘This person have a name?’

‘Loki,’ Apollo said. ‘Your northern god. He’s been...’ Apollo waved a hand. ‘In and out. Not like the rest of the Kingdom. He’s with the Other Heroes.’

Marvel? Was Apollo talking about.. the Marvel universe? Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh _fuck_ but... but they’d killed Loki off. Well no, Ellery reasoned with immediate stubborn determination. You couldn’t kill _Loki_ . Loki was _a god_ . You can’t kill _gods._ He looked at Apollo, jaw set.

‘If you can heal my feet, I am willing to walk through Tartarus itself to get Him back.’

Apollo looked at him for a long moment. ‘You know what happened to Him.’

‘Yes, sir, I do.’

‘Your feet?’ Apollo asked.

‘Plantar Fasciitis, bilateral, chronic and severe. Not sure wh—oh my god.’ The pain had just disappeared. He surged forward and threw his arms around Apollo. ‘ _Thank you_ , Apollo.’

Apollo hugged back, kissing him gently. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Wait here while I find my brother.’

‘No need, babe, I know this one, he’s _majorly_ one of mine.’ Hermes leaned on his staff in midair. ‘So,’ he said, ‘ _favourite_ brother, where do you need to send him?’

‘To Loki.’

Hermes’ eyes widened. ‘Oh,’ he said, and was suddenly on the ground, robed in black, his caduceus now a huge walking stick with a scythe’s blade at the top, sharp and shining as bright as the last of the moon. YOU WANT _THIS_ ME, THEN.

‘Yes,’ Ellery said. ‘But he’s not dead. He can’t be.’

TRUE AND MISLEADING. HE’S NOT UNABLE TO RETURN.

‘Ah,’ said Ellery. ‘Well, let’s go get him. I’ll help him find his way home.’

YOU’RE PRETTY CONFIDENT.

‘I have nothing to gain if I don’t go, so why not go boldly?’

SEE APOLLO? THIS IS WHY I LIKE THIS KID. COME ON, GOODWIN, LET’S GO TO THE DANGEROUS SIDE OF THIS TOWN...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday _is_ when Disney Cast Members get paid, Kronk _is_ Jewish, and Hermes actually _is_ Death, in His pantheon.


	6. The God of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early for my best friend, who is about to go to a place without internet for a while.

Ellery and Hermes walked through shadows that were getting colder with every step; and so, it was comforting to have Hermes by his side, skeletal hand holding his. Truth be told, Ellery was a little nervous about meeting Loki; after all, _canon_ Loki wasn’t really the same as _fanon_ Loki, and  Ellery was aware of how marked a difference that could be, having lived through the early 00s with Draco Malfoy. 

‘Are you looking like Death from Discworld on purpose?’ Ellery asked Hermes, presently.

HONESTLY, THIS IS KIND OF NEW TO ME.

Ellery raised a brow. ‘Really? But you’re Hermes, Hermes is the Reaper too.’

YEAH I… KNEW THAT, BUT DIDN’T, UNTIL JUST NOW.

‘What do you mean until just… now...’ Ellery trailed off. ‘You mean, meeting _me_?’ 

NOT A LOT OF PEOPLE OUTSIDE THE KINGDOM WORSHIP, AND YOU ALL HAVE MORE POWER THAN ANYONE BORN INSIDE THE KINGDOM.

‘So… this is like, American Gods type stuff? Where the mortals shape how the gods… are?’ Ellery was, again, strangely calm about such a huge revelation. ‘So… _I’m_ the reason you look like this?’

I’VE NEVER LOOKED LIKE THIS BEFORE.

‘Shit,’ Ellery said. ‘So… whatever I believe about the gods, that’s… true now?’

ARGUABLY IT’S ALWAYS BEEN TRUE FOR YOU. IT’S JUST NOW TRUE FOR US.

‘That’s a lot of power.’

WELL, DREAMERS ARE DANGEROUS, HERE IN THE KINGDOM. DREAMERS CREATED THE KINGDOM AND EVERYTHING IN IT. THERE HASN’T BEEN ONE FROM THE OUTSIDE HERE IN A LONG TIME. DOES THE MOUSE KNOW?

‘I… I don’t know.’

WELL, DON’T TELL HIM. JUST ASSUME HE DOES; AND IF HE DOESN’T, THAT’S NOT ON YOU.

Ellery smirked a little. Hermes was still  _Hermes_ , after all; god of lies and loopholes. ‘ Where are we?’

ONE OF THE SPACES BETWEEN WORLDS. I COME THROUGH HERE A LOT. SO DOES LOKI. IF HE’S ANYWHERE, HE’S HERE.

‘Do you know him?’

WE’RE AWARE OF EACH OTHER, BUT HE’S NEVER APPROACHED ME.

‘Well, at least I know I’m not influencing _too_ much,’ Ellery murmured. ‘In my writing, you’re best friends and everyone dreads when Loki comes to visit you on Mount Olympus.’

BEST FRIENDS HUH? THAT SOUNDS NICE, I’VE NEVER HAD ONE OF THOSE. 

Ellery squeezed his hand, knowing better than to offer by now, but knowing that a younger version of him, desperate to please everybody, would have. ‘ So how do we know we’ve found him? Are we going to… uh, end up in a darkened wood, or a howling plain of black sands, or something?’

YOU COULD START LOOKING NOW, IF YOU WANTED. JUST UH… DON’T LET GO OF MY HAND. I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT IF YOU WERE  TO DO THAT .

Ellery thought of what Loki had said in the movies about this place, about the places between worlds that even Heimdall couldn’t see, about ‘different ways than the bifrost to other places’, and held tight to Hermes’ hand. ‘ Loki?’ he called, into the darkness. Hearing it, he tried against, stronger this time. ‘Loki!’ 

The darkness suddenly  _became—_ a dark desert with strange stars and black sands, and no wind. It wasn’t the kind of desert in Africa, with rolling dunes and nothing else. It was the kind of desert Ellery was used to, the dark mesas all painted the colours of night, and the scrub and cacti everywhere. And spiders. Lots and lots of spiders. More spiders than  even a normal desert had. 

It was the first concrete sign Ellery had, that  _he’d_ somehow done this. ‘We’re… we’re in the Almost, aren’t we?’ he breathed. ‘The Might Be.’

The Wood Between The Worlds, CS Lewis had called it. The concept had grabbed Ellery’s imagination as a child, and never let go.  But he felt more confident as he walked on, still holding to Hermes’ hand for safety. ‘Loki!’ he called again, mostly because saying the name of the thing or person you were looking for helped you find it. ‘Loki,’ he said again, a little softer, like calling him across the room at a party. ‘Loki, Loki...’ 

There was something only Ellery called Loki, that he was a little afraid of saying, but that wanted to come out of his mouth. He contemplated it, but then decided to hell with it, if Loki got mad then Loki wasn’t  _his_ Loki, and that was a silly notion because, well,  _of course_ he was. ‘Mamaloki!’ he called.

And Ellery saw a  blue hand in the moonlight, on the ground, emerging from some scrub. He tightened his grip on Hermes so he wouldn’t let go, and pulled. Hermes just followed, not resisting, and  Ellery crouched, looking up at Hermes.

‘Can I let go now? I need to help Him!’ 

Hermes knelt, and reached out to Ellery’s tie. Ellery immediately got the idea, and pulled it off, working the knot out with his teeth and one hand, and wrapping one end around his hand, winding it in his fingers, before tying the fat end around Hermes’ wrist-bones. Hermes tied the thin end around Ellery’s wrist, and only  _then_ broke contact with him.

GLAD THAT WORKED _._

‘ _Same._ ’ Ellery said, and finally reached down with his hand, touching the blue one of his god’s, offering his touch. ‘Loki?’ he said, and parted the tumbleweeds as best he could with bare hands. ‘Loki, please wake up.’ 

The phrase was, heartbreakingly, like a kind of spell from a story. ‘Please wake up, Mamaloki,’ Ellery said,  wishing so badly tears could fall, so he could feel less of the pain building inside him . ‘Please, please wake up, I love you, please wake up. You have to wake up, Loki. Please...’  He  spoke as he started to work at parting the weeds, the thorns catching on the sleeves of his coat. ‘C’mon, Hermes, help me clear these away.’

I CAN’T.

‘What d’you mean, you can’t?’ Ellery asked, on his feet and still pulling at them and tossing them aside. Hermes reached out with his hand, which passed through the weeds.

I CAN’T INTERACT WITH THEM. THIS IS YOUR VISION. YOUR MAGIC. YOU’RE NOT TRULY IN A DESERT WITH TUMBLEWEEDS, BUT IT’S HOW YOUR MAGIC IS MAKING THE WHOLE CONCEPT MANIFEST.

‘Ah,’ Ellery said. ‘Got it. Makes sense.’ He kept at it. ‘Loki,’ he said, ‘Loki, come on, wake up. Wake up, mama, come on, we’re here, it’s okay, you’re not alone anymore….’

Hermes listened to him, listened to him plead and encourage, never turning to anger, watched him do magic in a very visceral, metaphorical way, not hand-waving and incantations but getting blood and scratches on his hands, and slowly, slowly carving away at the task at hand, until Loki was revealed, blue and covered in strange scar-like markings, black hair almost invisible against the sand.

‘Loki,’ Ellery said, crawling forward to be near his head. ‘Loki, please wake up.’ He pressed Loki’s hand against his face, looking down at him. ‘Please, Mamaloki. Remember what you are. You’re a _real_ god, you’re not a fake one. You’re not. You’re _my_ god, Loki. You’re Loki Silvertongue, Loki Liesmith, Loki Changeskin, Loki Skywalker.’ He fell upon Loki, holding him and speaking in that same voice, passionate but without tears. ‘Loki, god of _magic_ and _trans people_ and _witches_. Loki, mother of monsters! Loki, Trickster god of the Norse. Mama to the monsters of the world, even if they aren’t yours. Wake _up_ , Loki! Nobody can kill you! _You’re a god_.’

The raw power was purposeful now, Ellery knew he could forge magic now, and was trying. Hermes could only watch, and tether him. He was powerful but unskilled.

He _poured_ his belief into Loki, poured all his love (more than he had for the other gods, Hermes noted, without rancour), his desire, everything.

‘Please wake up, Loki,’ he whispered against Loki’s chest. ‘Please. I need you to wake up.’

-

_Please wake up, Loki. Please. I need you to wake up._

The words were whispered into his heart, and with them came endless coolness, like being bathed in a stream of strength and… faith. He opened his eyes to a velvet sky full of stars, and the moonlight, bright as day, limning a spider overhead, sitting in her web, the light shining upon the strands.

‘Loki, please,’ said the voice aloud, from the light press of someone hugging his chest, but not leaning on him. ‘Please, you’re a god, nobody can kill a god, Loki, it’s in The Rules… Please, wake up.’

‘I have,’ Loki said, quietly. He wanted to be wary of this person, wary of such power; but he knew, in a deep way, a sure way, that this person would never harm him. They got up, and Loki got their first look—a human man in a suit, makeup, and with hair mussed and with twigs and spiders stuck in the curls. The former stuck, the latter there of their own will. Loki sat up, and realised he was no longer pale but blue. Frowning, he put the enchantment back, that made him look Aesir—or human—and sat up, only then noticing the other traveller through this between place, the one he’d seen before. ‘You,’ he said, more curious than accusing. ‘You… came to help me?’

One skeletal hand pointed at the human. _HE_ CAME TO HELP YOU. WAS VERY INSISTENT ON IT. I JUST BROUGHT HIM HERE.

‘You’re my god,’ said the man, and hesitated. ‘May I please hug you?’

Loki gave him a look, startled. Nobody _asked_ for hugs, not shyly like that, as though they were an imposition. But then again, it gave Loki the power to deny him. Not that he wanted to, he didn’t want the responsibility of saying no to something like comfort, because he knew it was easy for him to say no; it was harder to say yes.

‘Yes,’ he said, after great effort. ‘Don’t ask again, just do it.’

The hug was warm and yet cold at the same time. ‘I love you, Loki, I’m so glad you’re okay.’

The words were like dagger blows, and Loki held on to the human tighter than he wanted to admit. Someone who said things like that was someone Loki wanted close.

‘I’m Ellery,’ said the man. ‘This is um, this is Hermes Psychopompos.’

HI.

Loki looked at Ellery. ‘Are you a sorcerer?’

Ellery smiled. ‘I’m a bard, which is kind of the same thing.’

Loki chuckled, and looked around at the night desert. ‘You made this,’ he said, realising. ‘Do you understand how powerful you are?’

‘Only a little bit,’ Ellery said, hugging him again. ‘C’mon, let’s go home, okay?’

Loki smiled. ‘Do you know what I’ve done?’

‘Yes, and I don’t really care much,’ Ellery said cheerfully, getting to his feet and offering Loki a hand. Loki didn’t take it, but got to his feet, careful of the spiders that were everywhere, benignly going about their business. They began to walk back, and Loki did not miss the tie that had been used as a makeshift spell, tethering Ellery to Hermes. He didn’t mention that it was unnecessary, precautions were never to be dismissed.

‘Spiders,’ Loki murmured, as one abseiled off of his hand. ‘Why spiders?’

‘I like spiders,’ Ellery said. ‘They’re my favourite. I guess that’s why.’

‘They’re your famliar, then.’ Loki said, nodding.

‘I… is that was a familiar is? Huh. I thought it was like, a pet that had a psychic connection with you.’

Loki laughed, despite himself. ‘You really have _no_ idea...’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘You could defeat Thanos.’

Ellery thought of how he’d already written that with Best Friend, and smiled—especially at the part where they’d incorporated a honey badger and the entire animal population of Africa doing most of the defeating, because Earth was a deathtrap and it wasn’t because of the humans. He thought of how the entirety of tumblr had decided the Snap just made everyone go to the Party Dimension, that they were alive but Somewhere Else, until they could be heroically rescued of course, by insert-your-favourite-marvel-superhero-here. He thought about people who pointed out that the Grandmaster had enough power to defeat Thanos, and would likely melt him into a grape-flavoured puddle for hurting Grandmaster’s Loki….

‘Yeah,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘and National Novel Writing Month _is_ coming...’

I GET THE FEELING, WHEN YOU BOTH SAY ‘THANOS’, THAT YOU AREN’T JUST USING AN EPTHET FOR HADES.

‘Oh, no,’ Ellery said immediately, ‘Thanos is not the _real_ Thanos, no. He stole that name, because he’s a poseur and has literally no original ideas at all. Another narcissistic _man_ who wants to rule because thinks he knows best, and has no personality other than that. Yawn. Give me a Trickster god any day.’

‘You haven’t met him,’ Loki said grimly.

‘Oh no, if I’d met him I would say those things louder and to his face,’ Ellery said. ‘I fear nothing, at this point. I have attempted suicide… five times this year, been in an abusive marriage for all of my adult life, had my home and all my possessions _and my three sons_ taken from me by that abusive husband, was in and out of asylums for the past month, less a few days for a gruelling bus trip halfway across the country because I was not going to be homeless in fucking ass nowhere Minnesota, just got out of an asylum, and haven’t had an orgasm in two weeks. I am fresh out of giving a fuck about _men.’_

Loki sat with this a while. He wanted to point out that a mortal could not possibly understand. He didn’t, though he wasn’t sure why. Ellery did, indeed, speak like a man with nothing to lose, and nothing to fear. Perhaps it was true. If you’d already lost everything, how could anyone threaten you? If you didn’t fear death, or pain… ‘And you are just… taking me back to your home? Why not defeat him?’

‘I need to learn just what I can and can’t do, and how, first,’ Ellery said firmly. ‘And you might want to stock up on allies with phenominal cosmic powers. En Dwi Gast isn’t going to cut it.’

‘How… do you know about that?’ Loki was more than al ittle perturbed now. No one knew about that. Thor had tried, but Loki could hide things from his brother with ease.

Ellery shrugged. ‘You’re a legendary seducer. En Dwi is a legendary slut. I can put two and two together.’

Loki chuckled. ‘You’re not wrong,’ he said, ‘and it was gracefully said, I’ll give you that.’

‘Sex is how you control a man,’ Ellery said, with cold confidence that spoke of experience with a certain _kind_ of man, a common kind of man, a conqueror. ‘You know that and I know that.’

Loki looked askance at Ellery.

DON’T GO DOWN THAT ROAD, KID, YOU’LL NEVER COME OUT.

Ellery sighed, and his cold bravado flickered, gave way to something… else. ‘C’mon, Hermes, let me be in the "men are _garbage_ " phase of being dumped.’

GETS A LITTLE MORE COMPLICATED WHEN YOU _ARE_ A MAN, DOESN’T IT?

‘Fuck yeah it does, but I don’t think about that too hard. I’m not a man, I’m a _boy_.’ He sighed. ‘Tragically, I still want to _fuck_ people with cocks, even if I don’t really want to do anything _else_ with them.’

YOU DON’T GET ALONG WITH YOUR HOSTS?

Loki listened to them converse, but more, he watched the human; watched him gesture and watched his face, watched him easily walk through worlds, not flinch at the discomfort (did he notice it at all?), watched him trust Loki, not hold back any secrets, not seem to feel fear that Loki would use them against him. That amount of trust was dizzying.

They eventually came to the edge of a wood entirely of blackthorn, that was alive with magic Loki had never seen before. _Powerful_ magic. Hermes was suddenly blue and flying again, and sighed.

‘Thank you for flying Air Hermes,’ he said with a lazy salute. Ellery giggled.

‘Thank you, Hermes,’ he said, and Hermes gave him a little kiss on the forehead.

‘You’re my favourite kid, you know,’ he said, and was gone. Ellery turned back to the wood, looking at it with a smile on his face, like it was the most beautiful wood in the world, not something forbidding and full of malice—and black thorns the size of a sword.

‘The Black Falcon,’ Ellery said, ‘owns this wood, and made it. She’s a powerful Enchantress—a dragon.’

‘A dragon,’ Loki said, ‘and we’re supposed to walk into her forest? Are you mad?’

‘As mad as you are,’ Ellery said, raising a brow. Loki conceded the point with a facial expression. ‘I work for her,’ Ellery went on, ‘I’m her secretary. Will be,’ he amended, quietly. ‘I just need to recover. I need your help to that,’ he said. ‘Please.’

Loki knew there would be a catch to this; but then again, he’d been pulled from the Void by a complete stranger who had pleaded, _begged_ him to ‘wake up’, like a child who did not understand death—except Ellery did, of course, he was a grown man, he _must—_ but he refused to believe Loki was dead. Refused, and had faith in Loki’s… godhood.

‘What is it?’

Ellery told him.

‘...And Apollo said he couldn’t help, which I guess makes sense because it’s _medicine_ that’s _causing_ the problem, but there’s not actually anything medically wrong with me, so he suggested I go and find you, and bring you back, and ask _you_ , and I’m assuming that’s because you’re one of the sex gods, and also a powerful mage. Please,’ he said, ‘I can’t _worship you properly_ without it.’

Loki looked considering, for a few minutes, then turned, looking up at the wall of thorns and brambles again. ‘Why not ask her?’

‘She’s not my god,’ Ellery said. ‘And… you don’t ask fairies for things.’

‘But you trust _me_ , notorious trickster and malicious bastard.’

‘Yes, because you’re my god and I have faith in you.’

‘I’m your god,’ Loki repeated to himself. ‘I’m not a god.’

Ellery turned to him; he knew it would come to this. ‘What is a god?’ If they were having this argument, he was going to go down hard on everything philosophical he’d learned about cosmology and the nature of gods from Gaiman and Pratchett, the two greatest experts on the subject (at least, in Ellery’s opinion).

Loki looked at him a long time, at the determination on his face, in his voice. And he really thought about it. What _was_ a god, when you got right down to it? Powerful, certainly. Immortal, of course. And famous, stories of their exploits passed down through generations. And worshipped.

‘...Point taken.’

‘Now,’ Ellery said, turning toward the brambles and starting inside them. ‘Let’s go. The Guild meeting might still be going on, if we’re lucky.’

‘The Guild?’

‘Mhm,’ Ellery said, getting ideas as he went along. His own distress could wait a little longer. He wanted to get Loki _established_ here. Get him what he deserved, get him into the company of _equals_.

He was a _Disney Villain_ , after all.

-

Loki followed, still a little dumbstruck. ‘If I’m a god,’ he said. ‘What happens if I betray you?’

‘You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest,’ Ellery said it as though reciting a lesson from childhood, as he picked along a deerpath through the wood, ‘Honestly, it’s the honest ones you have to look out for, you can never tell when _they’ll_ be dishonest with you.’

‘You remind me of a mortal I met recently,’ Loki said. ‘But you are far more pleasant. _He_ was trying to kill me.’

Ellery wondered which mortal, but he had a good idea. ‘Tony Stark?’

‘Yes.’

‘You having fun being in the world of the living again yet?’ Ellery asked. The irony of this wasn’t truly irony—there was nothing for helping you feel less suicidal than saving someone _else_.

‘Honestly,’ Loki said, and paused just long enough to grin. ‘I didn’t expect to be fighting through a thornwood with a beautiful young man who _worships_ me.’

‘Yet here we are,’ Ellery said, and Loki laughed again. When had he laughed so much, recently? Perhaps when he’d been with En Dwi Gast, that brief time… but while En laughed a great deal, he was more inclined to make others startle with _arousal_ , not laughter.

‘Tell me of this Dragon,’ Loki asked, a little while later, after they’d walked across a creek on a fallen log and encountered a beautiful clearing full of sweet-smelling moonflowers, moths fluttering around them.

‘I daren’t speak her name, it would be Rude,’ Ellery said, and felt the feeling of the Storyteller coming on to him. He went on, ‘She can transfigure herself into the shape of a great lady, with skin green-pale and shimmering with the idea of scales, her eyes as gold and green as her flames, her robes as black as night. And she is beautiful and terrible.

‘With her always is her faithful servant, a Pooka that favours the shape of a raven. He sits upon her shoulder, or upon her staff, or wherever else he likes, being that he is, of course, a pooka, and does as he pleases.

‘She is, like all dragons, a Fairy; and the thing about fairies, is that they are wonderful—in that they create wonders. And they are terrific—in that they beget terror. And they are fantastic—in that they create fantasy. And they are awesome—in that they instill awe. But they are not _nice_ , and they are not _good,_ and they are not _bad_. They are _fairies_ , and that means _wild_. They are not _tame_ people.’

Like all stories, it was a mish-mash of everything the teller had ever heard, and Ellery reminded himself of that, even as he felt a little embarrassed both at not being able to quote exactly and also quoting at all.

‘It is polite to call her Silessa, but humans often prefer human titles, in which case she would be Her Grace Blackthorn, Queen of the Thornwood, The Black Falcon, First Of Her Name. One cannot be too polite, with dragons. As you must know, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Loki said, for that was the ritual answer. ‘You’re a fine bard,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure in a long time.’

‘Thank you,’ Ellery said, a little bashful and much pleased.

‘Tell me of this Guild. What is it for?’

‘Villainy,’ Ellery said, grinning as he climbed another slope, having the time of his life, covered in scratches and mud, his suit rumpled—but it was a good suit, and wasn’t actually _torn_ anywhere, just rumpled and with bits of plant life stuck on it here and there. Even his tie was no worse the wear, just wrinkled and currently shoved in his pocket. ‘But it is also where most of the mages of the Kingdom are. For all this is the _Magic_ Kingdom, those who _do_ magic are often seen ill.’

‘A Guild of Villainy.’ Loki said, eyeing the slope doubtfully.

‘It’s more of a social club, really,’ Ellery said, waiting at the top and looking back. ‘That’s what Ratcliffe tells me. You need a hand up?’

Loki shook his head, and turned into a sleek black wolf, making his way up the slope a lot easier on four legs. He was still panting a little when he got up to the top, much as Ellery was. Ellery took off his coat, draping it over his lap as he crouched, balanced on his toes as he rolled up his sleeves and then draped his coat over one arm, getting to his feet. The chill of the night made the sweat a lot easier to bear.

Through the thorns, they couldn’t see anything; but Loki could feel they were close, from the magic getting stronger. He turned back into his two-legged shape.

‘I gotta learn how to do that,’ Ellery murmured. ‘You keep saying I’m powerful and magic, that means I can use that magic to shapeshift, right? I’ve always wanted to shapeshift.’ He said it eagerly, the words almost tumbling over each other, breathless and his eyes…

Oh.

Loki leaned close, feeling aroused at knowing… knowing someone else found shapeshifting, even just imagining it, arousing rather than fearful. ‘It helps if the idea arouses you,’ he said in a low, sweet voice, gratified when Ellery bit his lip and smiled. Loki was not expecting the usual signs of arousal—scent, flush, shiver, these things were closed off from the mortal, for reasons he’d explained.

‘Will you teach me, Loki?’ Ellery asked, and the way he said Loki’s name, like it was a _title in itself_ , was intoxicating. They were close enough to kiss, and Loki had never been one to resist pleasure for any reason. He caught those plush little lips in a kiss, and Ellery moved against him immediately, putting his hands in Loki’s hair immediately, carding through it, humming in pleasure when Loki put a hand on his hip, the other cupping the side of his face, fingers sliding into his curls a little.

‘Perhaps,’ Loki said, when he ended the kiss, and Ellery laughed, which gave him more points—Loki had been expecting him to pull away in outrage, or at least pout. Ellery hugged him, and then started on the path again.

The castle emerged quite suddenly, given the thickness of the wood. It was a great and spiky black keep, and seemingly had no defences—well, other than the thornwood itself, which Loki knew had _let_ them pass. That deerpath hadn’t been made by deer, and it was sure that the Black Falcon knew of their arrival. The door unlatched without being touched.

‘Ah,’ Ellery said. ‘We are expected.’

-

Hades had been back for only half an hour, before Maleficent got a _look_ on her face, that reminded her that she was only wearing a Shape, that her real body had much keener senses, and much different body language. Her pupils contracted like a bird’s when seeing something interesting, and she spoke softly, but was heard by all the room.

‘He has brought someone back with him.’

There was a knock at the door, and Ellery _threw_ it open with a sense of drama befitting his new social group, striding into the room with hair full of spiders and burrs, suit tousled and covered in mud and stray bits of gossamer.

‘I have been to the edge of beyond, and I have found a worthy addition to this Guild, Silessa. He is a god, a mage, a prince beyond the stars, a Silvertongue, a Changeskin, a Mother of Monsters. He is feared by some, hated by most—and loved dear by me. Will you have Him as guest in your Hall, Silessa?’

Ellery always felt embarrassed at how he waxed grandiose and poetic; but gods and fairies surely demanded such grandness? Surely grandiloquence, if it was inappropriate all other places, was appropriate here, and now, and because of this?

Anyway, he’d always wanted to Aragorn into a room.

Loki followed after; he wasn’t going to object to a skald proclaiming his fame and power, though he was a little startled at the ‘Mother of Monsters’ being mentioned so proudly. Then again, nobody had ever _phrased_ it quite like that.

He looked around at the assortment of mages and other creatures—there was a lion with a black mane in one corner, laying against a magnificently huge tiger—and then, at the Silessa herself.

As Ellery had said, she was a Great Lady, clothed in black, with her black headdress looking like horns, looking down from on high and stroking her raven.

Loki liked her immediately.

In a pool nearby, expansive and with skin shimmering like the night sky, was surely a sea-witch, her lower half that of a giant octopus. A death-god with hair of flame sat nearby her, and a sorceress in violet reclined on a long sofa next to them. Another mage and an elegant warrior with a hook in place of one hand sat over a table of some boardgame or other, and a man in a suit that Loki knew for a crooked businessman sat in a comfortable chair by the fire, his attack dogs on the rug beside him. In a matching chair across was a woman in an absolutely simple white mink coat, half her hair black and the other half white. There were ordinary-looking humans in here, but Loki got the feeling if they were mingling with these extraordinary ones, they had something _more_ , that did not show in their appearance.

He did not bow, but he nodded to the Silessa. ‘Your Grace,’ he said, politely.

‘I am _intrigued_ , Ellery,’ she said in a low, breathy voice that sent shivers down Loki’s spine with how much power wound through every syllable. ‘What of Apollo?’

‘He couldn’t help.’

‘And this is…?’

‘I am called Loki,’ Loki said, evenly; but he had his own powers all around him—shields, and wards, and never anything offensive, no, not in someone’s _Hall_ ; but you were a poor mage if you didn’t put up shields in the lair of a dragon. ‘I would be honoured to be your guest, Your Grace.’

There were a few people having silent conversations with eyebrows and glances.

Ellery hoped this had been a good idea, as he waited for Maleficent to make a decision.

‘And this is one of _your_ gods, Ellery?’ she asked finally.

‘Um, yes, ma’am,’ he said, obviously fighting the urge to duck his head shyly. ‘Apollo said he couldn’t heal it because it’s already healed, technically; and he suggested I go find Loki, because Loki could… Loki is a liminal god, so he’s more powerful than Apollo.’ He tried to say it with confidence, remembering what Forte had told him about his power. _It’s only as good as you are sure of your words. Dispense with your fashionable uncertainty of speech, when you speak to Her._

And anyway, what good was an uncertain Bard? He wasn’t trying to be _funny_ , he wasn’t trying to conform to modern American ideas of Good. Arrogance was a _virtue_ , here.

And what he said was true. ‘Loki is the god of _magic,’_ he said it softly, because he was realising just how powerful that was, here.

Loki was startled at the increased attention; but he wasn’t surprised at all by the hostility. Power was a dangerous game, and he was willing to wager that the Black Falcon did _not_ like being confronted with a guest more powerful than she, herself.

Maleficent narrowed her eyes.

‘Too powerful?’ Loki murmured, with a smirk that curled oh-so-gently. Power was a dangerous game, but power came with a weakness easily exploited, if you knew how to do it.

‘Perish the thought,’ Maleficent said, with a smile that dripped sweet poison. ‘We have never met a _god_ of magic.’

‘Indeed,’ Jafar said, caressing the fangs of his staff. ‘What hero could stand against _that_?’

Loki did not scoff at the talk of heroes—villains could not be villainous without them. Instead, he thought. ‘Several,’ he decided to say. ‘But it was not they who laid me low.’

Here, he thought, his worshipper had brought him here to _give him allies_. He wished to make them allies, not enemies. ‘They defeated me, it is true,’ Loki went on, ‘but only after another had laid me low.’

He started spinning his own tale. He told them his story, of Thor’s childish bloodthirst, of his seizing of the throne (more than a few of them looked sympathetic at that), of his fall into the Void….

Of Thanos. Remembering what had been said about the name, he wove Ellery’s dismissal of it as stolen into the narrative, painting Thanos as craven, trying to take strength from Ellery’s disdainful opinion, but careful to show just enough fear beneath it. Thanos was a threat, he would surely come here, Loki was convinced all they had was time.

Ellery filled in what Loki had missed, after Thanos had snapped his neck. ‘…and There’s these gems, they’re _powerful_ , and some of you would probably loooove to have them. Frankly, all of you would probably do more interesting things with them than _he_ did.’

‘You really, really hate this guy, don’t you?’ Hades was deeply amused.

‘He has no _style_!’ Ellery exploded, gesturing expansively. ‘No panache! No _taste!_ He’s not a _proper_ Villain, he’s just… just…’ Ellery struggled to find a word insulting enough, illustrative enough. _‘Heterosexual!’_ he _growled._

Hades winced with a hiss through his teeth. ‘Ooh.’

He wasn’t the only one. Ellery was glad the straight villains didn’t protest being included—he didn’t want to nitpick literalicies right now, he was trying to make a point. He realised he could have said ‘fuckboy’, but then he’d have to _explain_ ‘fuckboy’, and you had to know your audience.

‘He takes _one_ semester of a philosophy class and suddenly thinks oh, _he_ can solve _everyone’s_ problems—oh and he’s got a creepy obsessive crush on _you_ , Hades, he thinks you’re a chick and kills as offering, fair warning—and, surprise! The answer to resource scarcity is killing half the population of _everywhere_ , because _that_ will solve everything! _Capitalists_ , _**ugh**_.’

Loki burst out laughing. It was some time before he could master himself. ‘My apologies,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I’ve just—it’s… gratifying, meeting someone who doesn’t fear him.’

‘I don’t fear assholes with god complexes,’ Ellery said stoutly. ‘There’s fifty thousand human guys just like him, all he’s got is a shiny glove full of phenominal cosmic power. Woo,’ he deadpanned. ‘You know who else has that in their _actual_ hand,  in the Kingdom? Like, at _least_ two people I can name, and one is in this room.’

Jafar smirked, at that. Ellery remembering the state of things  _ after _ was one of the reasons that Maleficent thought so highly of him. ‘ And here I thought you didn’t like me,’ he  purred, eyes flashing teasingly at Ellery, who still assiduously avoided his gaze.

‘No, I _fear_ you. Very different.’

‘Why do you fear him?’ Loki asked, and everyone was, suddenly, reminded that Loki knew nothing about any of them, unless Ellery had told him—and he wouldn’t have had time, not in half an hour, not even if part of that half an hour was in a timeless liminal space.

Jafar looked expectantly at Ellery. From the past few minutes, any description the boy made would be… amusing. And if it was even half as flattering as the description he’d given Loki, Jafar would have his ego stroked—something he sorely missed.

‘Jafar is a sorcerer with a speciality in Legilimency and the Imperius Curse; but he managed to claw up the ladder to genie—do you know what a genie is?’

Loki canted his head. ‘I know what a djinn is. The people of fire rather than mud.’

‘Oh, you _do_ know your lore, that’s hot,’ Ellery said. ‘Well, genies have that phenominal cosmic power I was talking about, except they’re usually tied to a contract that says they can only use it in service of the one holding their lamp. I’m… pretty sure Jafar holds his own lamp, which is unique as a situation. He took over a kingdom once, like you. That was exciting.’

‘Exciting,’ Jafar deadpanned. ‘Yes.’

‘And then you started thinking with—’ Ellery started, interrupted himself. ‘ _Well_ ,’ he said, in revenge, flashing his eyes. 

To his surprise, Jafar  _ laughed _ , genuinely. That… made Ellery like him more, actually. 

‘You wouldn’t have objected if it were _you_ , boy,’ he said, knowingly. 

‘If it were me you’d still be ruling, so _you_ wouldn’t object either,’ Ellery shot back. See what they made of _that_. 

‘You wish us as allies against this Thanos bird?’ Dr Facilier said, shuffling his deck as he spoke, Shadow dancing on the wall, unable to catch a shadowless man in his grip. 

‘Oh, no,’ Loki said, and smiled as he looked at Ellery. ‘I want you to train _him_.’

‘Wait, what?’ Ellery said, looking at Loki. He knew Loki had said he could defeat Thanos, but… ‘What do you mean, train _me_ to do it? Her Grace is a goddamn _dragon!_ I’m—I’m just a fanfic writer! Did you miss the part where _I was in an asylum and homeless a couple weeks ago_.’

‘Aladdin was a street rat,’ Jafar pointed out.

‘ _Dogs_ ,’ was all Cruella said. 

‘ _Okay_ , okay,’ Ellery said, ‘I get it. I’m a Chosen One.’ It just… hadn’t sunk _in_ , until now. You believed all sorts of things, in dreams, that made no sense in the waking world. Ellery closed his eyes tightly. ‘Christ, I didn’t know _this_ was the path I was on...’ he muttered, and huffed a  grounding sigh. ‘Okay, well, clearly the Avengers need a good, old-fashioned, scrappy orphan from the gutter. That isn’t Steve Rogers.’

‘Rogers isn’t a bard.’

‘Ah, so what they need is a good, old-fashioned, scrappy, orphan _bard_ from the gutter.’ 

‘Perhaps,’ Loki said. ‘You walked into the Void itself with Death to come and _pull me out_. I was _dead_. You brought me back sheerly because you refused to accept it. That is stronger than mere faith.’ 

‘...oh,’ Ellery said, in a smaller voice. He swallowed. ‘So… maybe it would be good to get the lexapro out of me first? _Not all at once I don’t know what that will do!’_ His voice was shrill and loud in panic as Loki started to make a gesture. 

‘Calm yourself, dear one,’ Loki said, as gently as he spoke to a wolf. ‘I know exactly what you spoke of; it’s used as a form of torture on several planets.’ 

‘Okay,’ Ellery said, after calming himself down. ‘Okay. Just—ask me permission before you do stuff, okay? I have. Issues.’

‘Understood.’ Loki held out a hand. ‘May I?’ 

Ellery took a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, please.’

It was not remarkable, except that Ellery was standing in a room full of people with all kinds of power over him, that had nothing to do with their magic… and Shadow slid into his just about when Loki finished, so it wasn’t so much Loki’s seidr making Ellery collapse as the feeling of wicked hands and whispers in the dark—that, now, knew _just_ what to say to make Ellery flush and stammer and, eventually, collapse. 

‘ _That’s_ more like it,’ Facilier said, grinning and spinning the Devil card in his fingers. 

‘You _bastard_ ,’ Ellery moaned, in delighted mortification, his voice throaty and shredded on pleasure’s claws. Facilier Laughed, and that just made it worse—but Ellery wasn’t fighting it, Loki observed; he was _revelling_ in it. It was the sort of embarrassment that was pleasureable.

It was becoming clearer, every new layer revealed, why Ellery worshipped  _ Loki— _ as much as it was perturbing, how well he  _ knew _ Loki, even the parts Loki told no one. 

Ellery was  _ elated _ , Shadow’s whispering was the first time he’d had anyone  _ properly _ give him dirty talk, and Shadow was stroking his clit so  _ perfectly _ and—and—! ‘ ShadowshadowshadowshA—!’ He interrupted himself with a gasp, and couldn’t recall ever orgasming like this  _ in his life _ . 

Wiggins, standing at Ratcliffe’s shoulder and busying himself with something domestic, as usual, leaned over and said, quietly, ‘I get him first, when we get home tonight.’

‘I outrank you,’ Ratcliffe murmured, watching Ellery writhe on the polished stone of the floor. 

Wiggins said nothing, and Ratcliffe knew he’d have to give in sooner or later. One’s valet (as Ellery  _ and _ Rati g an  both called him) was never  one you could truly win an argument with, all things considered. It had always chafed Ratcliffe, but over the years he’d grown almost fond of the annoyance it caused him.

-

As soon as they were in the coach home, Ellery was all over both of them, destroying his makeup in the process of kissing them both, hands everywhere. Ratcliffe finally took control of his mouth, not letting him turn to Wiggins a third time, and Wiggins seemed to agree in a way he never had before,  smirking that dark little smile of his as he made quick work of Ellery’s clothes, Ellery helping, as eager to get out of them as Wiggins was to get them off. He was  _ fire _ now, surging against Ratcliffe and kissing like a man in a fever.

‘I _need_ to be spitroasted,’ he said, panting, as  he came up for air, and moaned, burying his face in Ratcliffe’s shoulder. ‘Nnnnn _simon_ ,’ he moaned. Ratcliffe saw that Wiggins must have had fingers inside Ellery. That didn’t usually become possible for some time.

‘You’re _wet_ ,’ Wiggins said, with his brows raised in faint surprise, and not a little delight. 

‘Dare I ask what "spitroasting" is?’ Ratcliffe murmured, as Ellery moaned and clutched at him. In response, Ellery deftly undid Ratcliffe’s breeches and _demonstrated_ , hands wrapped around the shaft, his mouth—his _mouth._

A nd then, mouth warm and deliriously  _ sucking _ , he  _ looked up at Ratcliffe _ , pupils blown wide, makeup ruined, lipstick smeared on his mouth and Ratcliffe’s cockstand as he  _ worked _ . He only pulled up as he felt Ratcliffe fall over the edge, and had the cheek to  _ giggle. _

‘Usually it’s a cock in either end, but— _ohfuck_ ,’ Ellery said, breathless by the end, face covered in cum; he didn’t dare lick it, not even for effect—he knew he’d gag at the taste. Wiggins was not letting up, and he held on for dear life. 

‘We’ll have to try it properly, later,’ Wiggins said, voice full of promises, his fingers fluttering and teasing and Ellery gave a little gasp, and was coming again, and _so grateful_ he could. It had been forever since he’d had sex as good as he’d been getting, and now he could enjoy it properly.

W hen  _ was _ the last time he’d had multiple orgasms? 

‘You’re going to be such a mess by the time we get home,’ Ratcliffe murmured, low and using that tone he only got at certain times. Ellery felt silk on his cheek, wiping away the cum. ‘Everyone will know _exactly_ what kind of man you are.’

Wiggins gave a little sigh of delight. ‘He tensed around my fingers at that, John, keep going.’

Ratcliffe kept wiping away the mess. ‘I don’t know if I can  _ trust _ you to leave the house…’

It was a risk, implying Ellery would fuck  _ anyone _ ; but it was a calculated risk. He liked wickeder things to be said and talked about than he’d necessarily do. Then again… he had admitted that the idea that he could be a whore legally was inviting as a job prospect.  Not, he had specified, necessarily in Kingsait—he wanted to see other places first, places on the map that Ratcliffe had, that Ellery had pored over one afternoon, delighted but not saying why other than that he loved maps.

Ellery responded to the taunt with aplomb—he pushed back against Wiggins, and his moan had a laugh in it. ‘ Nnn yes, all those pretty Albish boys,  _ and _ their wives...’ 

‘Savage little witch,’ Ratcliffe murmured, finishing cleaning the last of the evidence from Ellery’s face.

‘ _Yes_!’ Ellery moaned. ‘Yes, yes, nnnnI need a cock inside me _now_!’ He had never fucked them both together, before—they worked separately, and Ellery hadn’t been able to do more than have Simon banter with him about what they _would_ do, if John had been a switch like Ellery, and not an irrevocable top. 

H e felt Wiggins’ fingers leave him, and only whimpered for effect—he was anticipating, hoping, because Wiggins was a very strict Dom, and Ellery wasn’t sure what mode he was in, exactly; this was a very new situation. 

‘Down,’ Wiggins said, in that Voice, and Ellery gave a little noise as he felt Simon’s long hands guide his hips down onto a beautiful, warm, _perfect_ cock, and it slid inside with more comfort than ever before, and Ellery wasn’t the only one that made a satisfied noise in his throat. 

‘You’re so _delicious_ ,’ Wiggins purred, and Ratcliffe poised fingertips under Ellery’s chin, admiring the look on his face.

‘Mmm,’ he agreed. ‘Quite beautiful.’ The idea of both of them having Ellery _at the same time_ was starting to be very inviting; at last, a way for them to interact in the bedroom that was agreeable to both.

And,  imagine, all they’ d needed was a sweet, soft, little harlot of a boy,  Ratcliffe thought. ‘How does he feel, Simon?’ Ratcliffe asked, trying something new. Simon’s voice  was  _ delicious _ when he was aroused, and Ratcliffe had never heard him use the voice he used on Ellery except through a door, before. He liked it.

‘A more perfect cunt has not been made by God or anybody else.’ A smug look. ‘And I still get it first.’

‘I believe I came from him before you.’ 

‘From his _mouth,_ not his quim.’

‘Have you _had_ his mouth, Simon?’

Ellery was whimpering. ‘ _ Somebody _ better have my mouth again,’ he interjected,  and Simon pushed him firmly off.

‘Turn around and suck me off then, boy, and let John have your cunt.’

‘You have the best ideas!’ Ellery lilted, squirming around and licking his lips before going down on Simon’s cock, his moan muffled as he felt Ratcliffe’s finger slide into him. 

W iggins didn’t let him finish, pushing him off just as the carriage stopped. Ellery knew better than to protest.  He also knew that Ratcliffe would linger, and pull him back against all of that  _ solidness _ , and Ellery wasn’t about to protest  _ that _ , either. This, surely, was heaven.  He bucked and tensed, and struggled against that strength holding him—Ratcliffe was very stron g—and enjoyed the relentless hold, coming all the harder for it… just as the driver, wisely, tapped on the door rather than opening it outright.

Wiggins, as befitting his position as valet, had them all presentable again in a twinkling, and they all managed to get into the house without making a scene. 

They didn’t  _ stay _ presentable.


	7. New York

Wiggins pinned him, not pulling out even though he’d already come. Despite this, he leaned down, all elegance; and reminding Ellery, as always, of an immaculate dandy. ‘Have you come?’

His tone had… well, a Tone, in it. Ellery knew he couldn’t use his usual metric of ‘could I stop and be satisfied’ (the way Wiggins asked, actually, made that metric suddenly seem horrifying). ‘No, sir.’

‘You will _be honest_ , in future, I trust?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m not pleased until you are, is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Wiggins leaned down and kissed him, gentle, sweet. ‘Good boy,’ he said, and pulled out. ‘Now, how do I make you come, pet?’

Ellery blushed at the unexpected question; he’d never… really been asked before, and therefore masturbation and sex had been easily compartmentalised. ‘Um…’

‘Be as self-indulgent as possible,’ Wiggins ordered, still in that soft voice, settling on one side of Ellery and running his fingers along the Ellery’s treasure-trail.

‘Being tied up so I can’t move away even when I can’t help twitching,’ Ellery said, slowly, ‘Having my...’ he trailed off, as always hesitating on how to call it, wanting to call it one thing, but feeling unallowed. ‘My cock,’ he decided, trying to take strength from his Dom. ‘stroked through the foreskin, while something—a toy, fingers, anything—flutters against that—that spot inside—and… coming once, and then having someone lick my cock until I um, gush all over the place, and my partner _liking that_ and _saying so_ , so I don’t get embarrassed.’

Wiggins listened—he was good at that—and listened attentively. He raised his brows at the last. ‘You can ejaculate?’

‘I—I don’t know if it’s um, ejaculation or just… urine but… there’s fluid that comes out, yes.’

Wiggins blinked in surprise; _t_ _his_ was a heretofore unknown thing—of course, the idea that Ellery could come at _all_ had been a heretofore unknown thing as well— but, not only could he ejaculate, Ellery also _didn’t seem to be very sure about something!_ That was _very_ unusual, when it came to sex.  He seemed to come from an all-knowing society; it was almost comforting to know there were limits to even _his_ knowledge on the matter. 

‘There’s a lot of it,’ Ellery went on, anxiously. ‘We should put down towels.’

‘This sounds better and better,’ Wiggins said, rather delighted. New things during sex were one of those little luxuries, to the Guild; and the reason so many of them had fought over who got to host Ellery while he recovered. Wiggins rose and fetched spare linens, folding them and having Ellery lay atop them.

‘This is going to be _such_ fun,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves.

-

_John,_

_You want me to do what to him?_

_-Forte_

  


  


_Maestro,_

_Fuck him. He is exhausting both of us (a fact which I know will amuse & gratify you) & you do say often how much you would like a boy. Have him at night & we shall have him during the day. _

_We shall bring him this evening, after supper._

_-JR_

  


Forte put the letter aside, and got up. Well, time for a trip—this time to a fifteenth-floor lounge he was very fond of, that had a view of Stark Tower. He sat at his vanity, took off the wig for that day, and started to take off his makeup.

Time to put on his city face.

At the end of an hour he was ready to get dressed, and by the time the knock rang through the house, he was reaching for the doorknob, opening it to see Ellery, who had done a splendid job keeping his face simple while he was still learning.

‘Drinks?’ Forte asked him, and heart Ellery’s pulse speed up. Nervous.

‘I don’t drink,’ he said.

‘What would you like, instead?’

‘Dessert?’

Forte smiled. ‘I can do dessert.’ The lounge was for post-dinner refreshment, and Americans were ever fond of their sweets. Ellery was also dressed appropriately, having picked the black tie suit; which wasn’t black, but the colour of coffee beans, because if there was anything Forte understood, it was that not everyone looked their best in absolute black. There were  _shades_ of black, and a smart person knew which one was theirs. Ellery’ s  was coffee; it made him look creamy and gorgeous, rather than sallow and ill. He wore  the suit well, and his makeup was fittingly subtle, lips painted the perfect neutral that wouldn’t look messy after eating.

‘I do so _like_ a well-dressed boy,’ Forte murmured, letting him in.

‘I have _so_ much to tell you,’ Ellery  gushed, delighted to have a friend to catch up. ‘First, I can have real actual sex again, so we should definitely do _that,_ tonight….’

Forte listened, content to let the boy talk. Ellery’s voice, unlike so many voices, was low and sweet and pleasant, and when he lilted toward the queenly end of the scale, he was equally pleasant, never too shrill (Forte despised high registers). Forte spoke low and barely at all to his footmen to get the carriage ready,  while Ellery caught Forte up on his crisis, and his first meeting with the Guild (the conversation with Gaston was  _extremely_ satisfying)… a nd then Ellery mentioned Loki, and Forte froze. 

‘Loki?’

Ellery picked up on the mood change immediately, having been around someone emotionally volatile and abusive for the past decades of his life. ‘Yes,’ he said, too firmly, too bravely. ‘One of my gods. God of magic, and trans people.’

‘You—he invaded New York some years ago.’ Even Forte, only a regular visitor and not one interested in the news, knew this. Ellery stared at him in naked shock, then started—mirthlessly, bleakly, somehwat hysterically—laughing.

Unlike some, who might have grown angry and shouted—or others, who might have worried and demanded explanation to soothe them—Forte simply waited, patiently, knowing that there was some great joke he would, in time, be privy to, if he but had patience.

Forte, like most Disney Villains who were mages, had a lot of patience.

‘Of _course_ , how could I not realise you were taking me to _that_ New York. You couldn’t possibly be able to go to the other one.’

‘The other one?’

‘My New York, where all of _that_ New York is as real as the Kingdom.’

Forte felt the world give way beneath him. ‘I thought… I’d escaped.’

Ellery realised, too late, what a realisation like that might do  _from the other side_ , and was hugging Forte before he could second guess it. ‘You did,’ he said, firmly,  putting his hands on Forte’s shoulders. ‘You did. It’s called the Marvelverse, it’s totally separate from the Kingdom, only mages can travel back and forth. And it’s… way better than my world, believe me.’

‘I wouldn’t know, _would_ I?’ Forte said, angry but not pushing him away. 

‘Fair point,’ Ellery said. ‘But anyway, thanks for telling me; now I know what not to talk about.’ He grinned. ‘At least, until I can talk to the right people.’

Forte raised a brow,  despite himself,  as he got on his overcoat and stick. ‘What do you mean?’

‘So, as I was saying,’ Ellery said, following him down the front steps and up into the carriage, ‘there’s a reason I pulled Loki into the Guild, and I think, now that you’ve told me what you have, there’s a way we can get you the recognition from the Guild you deserve...’

‘I’m listening.’ Now, curiosity was replacing the anger—curiosity, and _ambition_. 

‘Thanos,’ Ellery said. ‘Heard of him?’

Forte searched his memory. ‘No,’ he said, as the carriage began to move. ‘But I do not pay much attention to the news.’

‘Well, first of all, he’s a fuckin basic-ass hetero bitch with no taste, so jot that down,’ Ellery began, and proceeded to (and Forte knew the phrase because something he _did_ have was a knowledge of drag queens, being that he was constantly mistaken for one) read Thanos for filth. 

It was deeply enjoyable, Forte even laughed at some points.

Forte led the way when the carriage stopped, through the darkened side-street that housed a hidden door,  which hid  a hidden staircase down into the subway platform  for the line that didn’t exist . Ellery still had the metro card Forte had given him (it felt so good to have one in his wallet again). They got on the train with no one on it, and sat in silence until the doors of the carriage opened, and a  _thing_ wandered in. 

Forte went very still, not sure where to look. Too many eyes, joints in the wrong place, wrong wrong  _wrong,_ screamed the part of his brain that was animal, that was child, that paid no mind to magic and manners.

‘Oh my _god_ ,’ Ellery said, beaming. ‘Are you _The Maker_?’

The being paused in trying to navigate the seats, and extended long and jointed neck to look at Ellery with a sightless face, limbs on its back covered in eyes opening and rolling to look at Ellery, pupils of many shapes focussing.

‘You _are_ ,’ Ellery said, breathless with awe. It was the first he’d _met_ one of his creations.

‘I feel as though we have met,’ the being said, in a voice so gentle, so _made_ of gentleness, so free of any violence of any kind, that it made one’s breath catch, ‘ but I haven’t ever seen you before.’

‘I… have one of those faces,’ Ellery said, not daring to break the moment, not wanting this sublime being to know. ‘I’ve heard of you. Where are you going?’

‘Knowhere,’ said the Maker, just as someone _else_ came through the subway door, all in gold glitter and blue; and another in fur and with white hair that stuck up like feathers, his eyes in half-lidded boredom. 

‘Maestro,’ Ellery said, staring at the trio of visitors but addressing Forte. ‘These are the Elders of the Universe. En Dwi Gast, The Grandmaster of all Games. Taneleer Tivan, the Collector of Rarity. And the Maker, Creator of Beauty.’ Ellery bowed, just to be on the safe side. ‘Elders, this is Maestro Forte, composer and music Elemental. I’m Ellery.’ He rose from his bow. ‘I’m here to kill Thanos.’

‘Another one,’ Taneleer said, barely restraining an eye-roll at the bravado.

‘I brought Loki back,’ Ellery said—to En Dwi Gast, because he didn’t know what this reality was, but in his reality, it was the most important piece of information he could give the Grandmaster.

‘You… you brought him back? From where?’

Ellery could fully see the duality of Grandmaster, meeting him in person—he sat next to Ellery, looming and setting an arm around him casually, his voice all fun and bimbo-emptiness hiding a steel knife.

‘Thanos snapped his neck,’ Ellery said. ‘I asked Death to bring me to him, and brought him back. Because he’s a god, you can’t kill a god.’ Ellery didn’t show fear—what had he to fear—and crossed his legs. ‘I thought you might be worried about him,’ he said, glancing up at Grandmaster. ‘You were worried about him, weren’t you?’

‘Oh, uh, a little. A little,’ the Grandmaster lied. 

‘After I got you out of a cell, anyway,’ Taneleer said, taking up three seats in a sprawl that managed to look opulent instead of common. The Maker had given up on the seats entirely, and was standing, holding various of the grab-bars with most of his long, inky hands.

‘But En, you _were_ very worried,’ The Maker said again. ‘Thanos was so terribly cruel to his dear Loki,’  he told Ellery and Forte. ‘Cruelty is so _ugly_.’ He said it like it was the foulest thing to call something. 

‘Loki’s safe now,’ Ellery said, with confidence. ‘I gave him everything he needs to keep safe from Thanos. He said I had the power to defeat the Infinity Gauntlet, though I’m not certain how I’m supposed to utilise that power.’

‘How did you, uh, pull him back from the big, the big sleep?’ The Grandmaster was stroking Ellery’s hair now, tugging a ringlet and letting it spring back into shape, seeming utterly absorbed by this; but he was listening _very_ closely, Forte could tell. Grandmaster of all Games, indeed. His poker face was impeccable.

Ellery thought on that. ‘I begged him,’ he said. ‘I reminded him gods can’t die, and I begged him to wake up, because I…  because I  needed him to.’ His eyes stung, and he turned away. He’d never been able to cry about that. 

He’d quoted the most powerful words of resurrection his heart remembered. He’d quoted the most profound and powerful words of grief, of loss. He’d quoted the words that encapsulated sudden loss, that so perfectly underscored not understanding death when it stared you in the face.

_Please wake up, Dad, please, you gotta wake up…_

He’d quoted  _Simba_ . 

Ellery b urst into tears , not just for that, but for the pain of being in the hospital over and over. He cried for the loss of the false reality he didn’t understand had been hurting him, the familiarity and the grief and the confusion and the pain of his marriage. He cried because he wanted to know why his husband had hurt him so much, and he cried because he knew there wasn’t a reason. He cried because he missed so many things in his family’s life, he cried because he’d thought them evil at his husband’s insistence, when they weren’t. 

He cried because he realised all the emotional wounds he’d never noticed, that were bleeding and he was only just now understanding they were there, had been there. He cried because he’d missed so much, so many important things in his life, because of  _men_ . He cried because of a lot of things, and he couldn’t stop crying, because there was so much— _so_ much—that he’d never cried about.

Forte glared at the gold and blue Elder God, coaxing Ellery over to sit by  _him_ , and cry on  _his_ shoulder. He offered Ellery a fine linen handkerchief. 

‘Eesh, did I, um, what did I say?’

‘He is going through a _great deal_ right now,’ Forte sai d, bitingly. He didn’t like the way Ellery had looked at these three, he felt _possessive_ of the boy. This was _his_ strange, powerful  little outsider, _not_ theirs. Whoever _they_ were. Elder gods be damned, Ellery was _Forte’s boy!_

‘We shall get you cake, tesoro,’ Forte murmured softly into Ellery’s curls, ‘I shall get you pink champagne cake with strawberries, you’ll adore it; and I shall play for you, wind my music inside you until you come over and over, until you _breathe_ in tempo, until your pulse beats the time of my nocturne…. Cry, tesoro, lance your heart.’

‘Oh, oh, I _like_ you,’ En Dwi said, eyes warm and voice surprisingly soft and gentle. Forte commended his sudden interest in decorum.

The train stopped, and the doors opened, and the train’s voice said:

‘ _Knowhere. Next stop, Grand Central Station.’_

Taneleer got up, and stepped off the train. The Maker followed, seeming happy to leave the confines of a car not made for non-humanoids. The Grandmaster, however, was reluctant. Taneleer stopped the train’s doors from closing with a mere look.

‘En Dwi,’ he said across the distance. ‘My patience wanes, and with it, your chance at this amusement you are set upon.’

The Grandmaster sighed, and got to his feet. ‘Well,  uh,  see ya round, kids. I’ve never heard of, of a music mage before. Definitely gonna be, uh, keepin’ an eye on that.’ He blew a kiss to them and left, and the train moved on. 

Ellery, slowly, calmed down, and Forte let him have time, but held him. It helped, contrary to the arrogant assertion one of the social workers had in the hospital Ellery had been at, who insisted that people shouldn’t be touched while crying, because it wasn’t good for them. Ellery held tighter to Forte in defiance of the memory. Stupid, he thought fiercely. Stupid to think that; people  _needed_ skin contact. Hugging someone because they were sad was a  _good_ instinct, a  _healthy_ instinct. He  _wanted_ people to hug him and he wasn’t  _wrong_ for wanting that just because someone with fancy titles said so. That same someone had told him being borderline wasn’t a real illness too, he reminded himself. Consider the source, he told himself. Consider the source. 

‘Thank you,’ he said to Forte, angrier than he meant to. He pulled back, ‘Thank you for holding me when I started crying, instead of leaving me alone.’

Forte heard defiance in this, the kind of rage borne of it, and he didn’t know what to say—not even  _he_ would deny someone  _that_ . Not even, he wagered,  _Cruella_ would. Tremaine, possibly; but Forte disliked her for that reason. Those who would disdain emotion to the point of punishing it were not people welcome in the Summersea, where Forte was from.  He would not even have denied Belle, if she’d ever burst into tears while he’d been un-Cursed; she hadn’t, however. After the Curse, Forte had been left for dead, had woken alone in an empty castle, had made his way far from where anyone knew him, and now made his home in Krammarstang, where nobody had even  _heard_ of him. Belle didn’t even know he was alive.

‘Let me fix your face,’ Forte said, but he said it gently, and spent the rest of the ride touching up. Ellery had, overcautiously, brought everything he’d used, just in case of smudges like this. Forte knew how to fix it, and masterfully used a clean handkerchief, his fingertips, and his own emergency brushes and blender to fix things. Ellery looked perfect as when he had arrived by the time they reached Grand Central Station.

-

‘I made him,’ Ellery said, as they got off the train. ‘The Maker. I made him. I wrote him into existence.’

‘Do not tell people those things,’ Forte said, faintly alarmed but also deeply impressed, as they got into the elevator.

‘I think I’ve figured out how it works,’ Ellery murmured. ‘And I want to confide in _you_.’

Forte pressed the door-close button. Ellery took the signal to continue,  as the elevator started its long journey up. 

‘If I wrote it, alone, and… published it somewhere, then it’s true here, unless it’s an AU. That’s why the Maker is real, but Thanos isn’t already defeated.’

‘Then it is time to get you a new laptop,’ Forte said.

‘How am I going to explain my power if I… can’t explain it?’ Ellery asked him.

‘Write yourself into the Story,’ Forte said simply, raising a brow at him as though this must have been obvious. He stepped out of the elevator. ‘Give yourself powers that can defeat his, whatever they are.’

‘Oh… of course.’

Ellery followed him, through an eerily empty and narrow hall, tiled in subway white and barely lit. He stayed close, even held Forte’s hand. Without the bustle of people, you really realised you were  _underground_ , and the claustrophobia started to set in.

They finally entered into the normal part of Grand Central, and Forte started to lead more strongly. Ellery was happy to have a stong lead, he hated people who didn’t know how to walk and lead a group.  He wondered if Forte would be as good a lead while dancing, and wanted, suddenly, to dance with him. 

T hey reached the surface, and Midtown was, as usual, bustling and shady, looking not quite as fine and new as further Uptown, but not as narrow and twisty as Downtown either. As always, it felt strangely short, in places, and strangely tall in others. 

Now that they were near enough  to it , Ellery saw Stark Tower,  and pulled over to one side of the sidewalk, wanting to admire the view.

‘I’ve never seen it in person before,’ he explained, as Forte doubled back for him. ‘I wanted to enjoy it.’

‘The view is better from where I’m taking you,’ Forte assured him. ‘Come along. We can get you a laptop on the way, if you like.’

‘Mmm, I love this sugar daddy thing you keep doing with me,’ Ellery teased, taking Forte’s arm as they walked along. Forte chuckled.

‘I have never had the pleasure of doting on a beautiful, talented boy; I have always wanted to. Here?’ he said, gesturing to a blue and yellow-themed shop they were passing; Ellery smiled.

‘Yes, here. PCs are better, I can tinker with them.’ They went in, and Forte listened, watching as Ellery took strength from his presence, and didn’t ask for help he didn’t need. 

Forte quietly, but firmly, insisted on Ellery not paying attention to the price, only the features he wanted. The computers here looked rather uglier and more clunky than the sleek, silvery creatures from the Apple store, Forte thought; but Ellery was insistent that he preferred to fix his own machines.

‘And anyway,’ he said, after explaining this, ‘the operating system is something I know better.’ 

He picked one that was more expensive than any laptop he’d ever bought, stolidly did not worry about it, and picked up headphones and a few other things, including asking a clerk if they sold solar chargers. They did. He got one and added that to the things he was carrying.

‘I guess I need a bag, but I hate all of these,’ Ellery said, staring doubtfully at the row of them in the aisle. Forte canted his head, and picked one out.

‘This one is rather elegant.’

Ellery investigated it, looking in every single pocket and trying it on. ‘If it has your approval, I’ll take it.’

It went well with his suit, and did not look like a messenger’s satchel, nor anything as coarse and wholly practical as a backpack.  It looked, if nothing else, like the rather large purses that were fashionable, here. 

‘Is this formal enough for this place we’re going?’ Ellery asked.

‘Yes,’ Forte said, with confidence. ‘It isn’t white tie,’ he assured Ellery. ‘Creative black tie is accepted, especially from regulars. And,’ he added, ‘it goes beautifully with your suit.’ 

They checked out, and Ellery unpacked everything, packing it all into the new bag, and they continued on, down the smooth sidewalks full of people, the wider streets of  uptown, until they came to a building and a shining lobby of a hotel. Forte scanned his membership card at the elevator, allowing them up to the fifteenth floor. 

‘I am so out of my social class,’ Ellery muttered. Forte gently lifted Ellery’s chin.

‘Head up, walk proudly. You are my boy, you belong here.’ He walked in, and spoke to the maitre d’, who greeted him.

‘Ah, Mister Carlisle. And your handsome guest?’

Aha, Ellery thought, warming to him immediately. The Gay Voice. Brethren. He blushed, realising now he was being seen as attractive by another gay man. How nice, because the maitre d’ was rather attractive, himself.

‘My lover,’ Forte said, unembarrassed and using, Ellery noted, an English accent. The maitre d’ smiled at Ellery.

‘Oooh, I don’t know who to be more jealous of,’ he said, playfully.

Given the environs, Ellery wondered if the maitre d’ was free with such things because he knew Forte, and had for some time, long enough to get familiar. East Coasters were never like that from servant to served, normally.

A beat later, he was surprised that he’d suddenly started to be so socially knowledgeable. Was it the anxiety medicine working well or was it just… being around people who believed in him, and being away from people who didn’t, and no longer believing the lie that he was ‘bad at socialising’?

They were led to a table by the window and it did, as Forte had promised, have a beautiful view of Stark Tower.

‘Your usual port, sir?’ said the server, who came by almost immediately.

‘Please. And a pink champagne cake for both of us. With strawberries.’

‘And to drink, sir?’ the server asked Ellery. ‘I always recommend a nice glass of milk with the pink champagne cake. We have soy milk and almond milk if you’re avoiding dairy.’

‘Ice water is fine,’ Ellery said, almost automatically. The only lactose-free milk he liked was never served in restaurants, mostly because it was more profitable to serve fully vegan alternatives then dairy milk that was lactose-free.

‘What is pink champagne cake?’ Ellery asked, as soon as the server had gotten out of earshot.

‘The frosting has pink champagne in it. I recall you saying you liked pink things, at Marie’s.’

‘Oh, yes, I _love_ pink champagne. Mm, and strawberries. How do you know me so well?’

‘You look like the kind of boy who wants cake,’ Forte said. ‘Lots of cake. And cream, and fine things.’

‘Trying to fatten me up to eat me, Mr Wolf?’ Ellery flirted, in truth rather aroused by the idea. He loved being fed, and he loved the idea of an attractive man—of this man— _wanting_ him to be chubby. 

Forte heard the arousal, the quickening of pulse and breath, the warm flush. He smirked and was rewarded with a deeper blush, as he leaned forward. ‘And if I said yes?’ he said, brows lifted and lips parted just slightly. He watched the flush, the way Ellery’s eyes went dark. Oh, _this_ was interesting… Forte had never played with _this_ game-piece before….

‘You are so thin, tesoro, from your plight,’ Forte said, all sympathy and pursed lips. ‘We must _fatten you up.’_ He leaned back, recrossing his legs. ‘I want something that my fingers sink into.’

Their server returned, just as Ellery was squirming, with a cake, a whole five-inch cake, with pink frosting, decorated with lots of fresh strawberries, with more in a bowl, sliced and hulled, along with two empty plates, and two silver forks. She cut them both a slice, revealing the filling was also strawberries.

Forte fed him cake and strawberries  for the next hour, and Ellery loved every luscious bite. There was no luxury greater than good cake, and this was very good cake. He didn’t mind the way Forte’s green eyes, green as magic, watched him, either; nor the way Forte moved to be next to, rather than across from, Ellery, murmuring in his ear—murmuring such  _wicked_ things; nor did he mind the soft scent of wine  on Forte’s breath . Wine had never smelled lovely before, perhaps because it had always accompanied unpleasant company that drank in the American style (i.e., to get  drunk ).

It was the best date he’d ever been on.

And after cake, they went into a true lounge, with cushy leather armchairs and fireplaces, and wood panelling, and tasteful lighting, and sat in a corner and talked more, and Forte kept  _touching_ him, as they spoke, sitting comfortably close. He smelled of some kind of soft, complex, lovely perfume, and held Ellery’s hand as they spoke, occasionally kissing it. 

Forte was fully aware of their audience—being a mage of sound, he could hear all conversations, pulses, everything. It had been hell , at first; but he’d had years to get used to it. 

He was putting on a show, now, balancing his need to show physical affection with the semi-public setting. Servers still came in here, usually taking drinks in and out, and a few watching. They whispered to one another, as servants always did, and as long as they thought Forte and Ellery were ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’,  it was safe  to continue . Luckily, Ellery seemed to appreciate such expressions of attraction as hand-kisses and soft touches, instead of viewing them as false or in violation of his stated wish to not fall in love again. 

Forte did not wish to fall in love, either, of course; and that Ellery knew that might have been why he allowed Forte such liberties. He knew they were sensual  and friendly  only, not romantic. 

‘There’s something so nice about being around someone like you,’ Ellery said at last. ‘You’re playing the romantic, but it’s so much purer to know we’re on the same page. You’re not trying to trick me into liking you, you don’t think there’s going to be some grand romantic future. It’s just nice to touch someone, to show them you like their company. And that’s all. And I love that. About you.’

Forte smiled, kissing his hand again. ‘I was thinking the same thing,’ he said, truthfully. ‘But I am also playing a part.’

‘Mmm, _are_ you, Mr Carlisle?  I hadn’t noticed,’ Ellery giggled, and his voice got low and velvety, and he leaned forward, hands resting on Forte’s shoulders, to murmur in Forte’s ear, breath warm on his skin. ‘I do _love_ that accent you’re using.’

‘I can hardly be myself, here. Or at least, I thought I couldn’t.’ Forte let his eyes close, his expression look like Ellery had said something quite different.

‘No, you’re safer like this,’ Ellery agreed, and carefully left a small kiss on Forte’s cheek. ‘This is hotter than anything I’ve ever done, I am _so_ wet right now.’

Forte savoured the thought. ‘I know,’ he purred, knowing it would make Ellery shiver. ‘Now, perhaps you can tell me your plans for me….’

‘Did I do that thing where I get so wrapped up giving context I forgot to get to the point?’ Ellery found it easy to keep his voice velvet and queenly, in this mood, especially given Forte was still tracing the contours of his hand; and Ellery’s hands, he was being reminded, were a major erogenous zone.

‘You did,’ Forte said, lacing their fingers together.

‘Mea culpa.’

‘Mmm, I forgive you.’ Forte dared a kiss, soft and chaste, to the corner of Ellery’s mouth. He could push because they were being oh-so-cute, so chaste and sweet; despite the fact that drawing it out like this, light touches and barely enough kiss, was driving them both far more mad than instant gratification would have.

Americans were so stupid, Forte thought, knowing many before him had thought thus, and many more since.

That they were being watched, that was a given. Despite the enlightened times, men like them were still assumed far more obscene, more predatory, more oversexed. Forte had taken care to make their conversation concealed, so all the audience had to go on was their body language.

Sometimes, Forte missed court. At court, he could have fucked Ellery on the sofa, so long as he’d been tasteful and composed. Forte was very good at tastefully, composedly fucking a pretty boy, leaving him biting his hand to stifle screams of pleasure.

At least there was the small blessing that Ellery was  _so_ sensitive, that he had the delicate and tender hands of a typist, so responsive to the gentle caresses Forte was giving them. 

If they went home, that was time the spell would be broken. This was the trap of taking someone somewhere; if you wanted to fuck them, you had to take them somewhere  _else_ . 

But he had magic, Forte realised; he had magic, and talent enough. One of the first things Ellery had taught him was that music, sound, was vibrations in the air. Therefore, in theory, he  _didn’t need to be in proximity to a pipe organ._ Forte had never tried it, but now seemed as good a time as any….

And then Ellery gasped, and grabbed his shoulders. ‘Ohmigawd,’ he said, eyes wide and distant, focussed on whatever revelation he’d had. ‘Oh my god. Oh my  _god_ . Biiiiitch, oh my god.’ He leaned forward. ‘Mal is technically a Hero now,’ she whispered. ‘You should totally take  _over_ the Guild.’

Forte blinked, drawing back to stare in disbelief at Ellery, the disappointment at their play being interrupted soothed by curiosity—and Ellery’s words themselves, the promise they dangled.

‘A Hero.’

Ellery grinned. ‘ _Yessss_ ,’ he said, in a low voice, and hugged Forte. ‘okayforgivemebut—my  _son_ , I can give you what you  _deserve_ .’

Forte patted his back, allowing the endearment for what it was. It meant Ellery cared, was a symbol of how Ellery fought for him outside the kingdom, had become his champion.

Ellery didn’t care if he was thinking too big, or wanting to please Forte too much because he was high on endorphins and oxytocin. He didn’t. Care. He chose not to think about that. Life was too short, and Forte was  _his, and psychology could go die in a hole,_ he was so  _sick_ of psychoanalysing everything he thought and felt and did to make sure it was The Right Thing.

He didn’t hate Maleficent, but he did hate hypocrisy. If Villains had to be villainous, then canon had just made her a Hero a few years ago, and she was no longer eligible for the Guild, let alone leadership. But he didn’t want someone like Tremaine in charge, no. Forte was perfect. He was poitically savvy, knowledgeable, irrevocably Wicked… and a complete and total queen, which  ( in Ellery’s old-fashioned mind ) was a requirement. While Ellery  _knew_ that the reason all his queen role-models were Villains had roots in the criminalisation and villification of real-life queens, he hadn’t known that when he’d been influenced as a child, and what was done was done. He’d never want queens to be anything but Wicked, now; it would feel like a betrayal, a stripping of power. Villains got to be  _sexy_ , which was a very important piece of  _Ellery’s_ expression of his queerness.  _He_ wasn’t going to dumb down and be wholesome and sterilised; there was something fundamentally sinister about that, to  _him_ .

He sat like that, after the hug, just holding Forte.

‘Okay,’ he said, grounded even as his mind was putting thoughts together and setting things in order, a plan coming together…. ‘Okay, we have to stay here. We have to find…’ he ran through and realised he wasn’t sure who had survived The Snap and who hadn’t. ‘We have to… okay, I have to do some writing, set some groundwork. Then we can enter the game…. And… hear me out, this is just sketches right now… but somehow, we’re gonna turn defeating this guy into a coup for you.’

‘Lay out the details back home,’ Forte instructed, knowing the meandering mind wouldn’t focus well enough. ‘I shall help you form a plan.’ His eyes gleamed like a true Villain on the scheme, as he added, ‘Tell me _everything_.’

‘Oooh,’ Ellery said, shivering as he looked into Forte’s eyes. ‘I _love it_ when you talk _Villainy_ to me.’


	8. Chapter 8

They strolled out of the lounge together, and when Ellery took Forte’s hand, Forte didn’t protest.

‘He never let me hold his hand, or anything,’ Ellery said, apropos to nothing, as they went down the elevator. ‘It only got worse after we were married. I felt like he was ashamed of me.’

Forte squeezed Ellery’s hand.

‘I shouldn’t want to get married again, or have a boyfriend...’ Ellery told himself.

‘Boyfriends and husbands rarely offer pride to be seen with one, or appreciation and desire for one’s company, as you have learned.’

Ellery laughed. ‘This is why I like you,’ he said. ‘No, "but those were _abusers_ regular people are _different_ " invalidating bullshit like that with you, no sir, you’re just like "yeah love is shit though and you know that". Bless you, Maestro. I need someone as real as you in my life.’

They laughed.

‘Kiss me,’ Ellery said.

Forte kissed him, because they were in an elevator and because he’d felt like it for what felt like ages. It was warm, and soft, and deeply satisfying for all the anticipation that had led up to it. When the elevator stopped, they came up for air.

‘More,’ Ellery said.

‘Agreed.’ Forte still fondly remembered their last time in bed, and there hadn’t been any tantalising lead up to _that_ , unless twenty years of longing on Ellery’s part counted.

Forte didn’t just hold his hand, this time; he offered his arm, and Ellery took it, nestling close. They walked on the edge of the sidewalk, out of the way of passing pedestrians, going a little slower—but not much—due to being attached at the hip.

‘If we could get the Avengers back together,’ Ellery said, ‘plus Spiderman,’ he added, ‘then I definitely know what to do. But they split them all up for The Drama...’ he muttered to himself, frowning. ‘Dammit,’ he said. ‘I _hate comics_.’

‘Excuse me!’

Forte and Ellery looked around, stopping, to see an earnest-looking boy with a camera. ‘Um,’ he said, ‘Excuse me, hi. Is it okay if I um, take your photo? For street fashion.’

‘What is your name?’ Forte asked, politely.

‘I’m Peter.’

‘Hi, Peter,’ said Ellery, warmly. ‘I’m Ellery. This is Carmine. I’m game, lover; are you?’ he said, to Forte, slanting a gaze under his lashes. Forte took it as signal it was safe to say yes. He raised a brow, playing the reserved Englishman who knew the brutality of being a queen of his age.

‘What is it for, young Peter?’

‘It’s um, it’s for a school project. I like to keep a street fashion column going, in the school paper, and you two are just… amazing. Wow. Are you um, are you going anywhere special?’

‘No,’ Forte said, and gave a wide, curling smile. ‘We just look like this all the time.’

‘What do you both do?’ Peter asked, as he continued taking pictures.

‘I’m a zoologist,’ Ellery said. ‘What’s your favourite animal, darling?’

‘Spiders,’ Peter said, from behind the camera.

‘No!’ Ellery said, splaying a hand on his chest. ‘I _love_ spiders, they’re _my_ favourite too!’

The smile this ellicited between them, Forte noted, could probably have powered several stars. Yet, he noted sharply, Peter didn’t seem to know a lot _about_ spiders, which seemed suspicious. Forte had been target of a very talkative child a few times, due to his makeup and seating choices in Central Park, and had received full force the data stored about My Favourite Animal. But Ellery wasn’t suspicious; Forte let him take the lead, wondering if this was someone important, and biding his time. Ellery gave Peter his new number (the job had come with a phone), and then dropped a question that made Peter’s pulse jump several tempos.

‘Do you like Spider- _man_?’

Peter didn’t answer.

‘Because I _love_ spider-man,’ Ellery went on, ‘He’s my favourite superhero.’

‘Oh—really? Cos he’s a spider?’

‘Well, not _just_ that,’ Ellery said. ‘I think he’s a real mensch, you know? Aways does his best to help, and he’s funny, too.’

Forte watched Peter blush and hide behind the camera even more fervently. ‘That’s uh, an unusual outlook. A lot of people hate him.’

‘A lot of people hate nice sweet things, _because_ they’re nice and sweet, though.’

‘I mean… fair. Um, I gotta go. Thanks for the pictures.’

‘Can I give you my number so you can send some to me?’ Ellery asked immediately. ‘We’d love to have some.’

Numbers were exchanged, and Peter fled the scene, and they kept walking. Forte gave Ellery a Look; Ellery just smiled mysteriously.

‘Tell you later,’ he said. ‘So,’ he said, ‘he clearly thought we were a couple. You uh, you okay with that?’

‘Image is everything. Mr Carlisle having a boyfriend half his age sends just the right message, I think.’ Forte looked down at Ellery. ‘Consider that if you and I are only boyfriends in name and image, it is at least better than the opposite you suffered for so long.’ He wanted Ellery to _think_ , not just _feel_. One had to _overcome_ emotions, not let them overcome oneself.

Ellery thought about that. He’d… been married, and with someone, lived with them and all, and yet in public they weren’t together, there was always so much shame—in being queer if not in Ellery himself, though now he wasn’t sure at all which it had been—and… well, he _didn’t_ live with Forte, and he _didn’t_ talk cutesy love-pidgin with him, and he _didn’t_ share a budget or anything other than kisses—and, here was the thing, _he felt like Forte respected him and wanted him around. Him, Ellery, the person; not the idea, not the warm body, not some kind of skill that made Ellery useful—Ellery himself._

‘Yeah,’ Ellery said, ‘yeah, you’re right, that _is_ better.’ He nestled closer. ‘It’s also nice that you don’t make me feel like talking about him all the time is bad, or that the way I act being in reaction to what I didn’t have, or how he hurt me… is bad.’

‘Would I blame a cut for bleeding, or a wounded man from crying out?’ Forte asked, as they went down the subway steps. ‘Faugh. I know what it is to be under a ten year Curse.’

That was a sobering comparison, but Ellery wasn’t going to deny it, not when Forte had said it, not him. He would never have evern considered it, until now….

They got on the train, and Ellery immediately moved to cuddle, Forte leaning back to let him, arm around his shoulders as Ellery—careful of his makeup—leaned against Forte, who was rather taller, and functionally muscular from his favoured instrument, pipe organs being very demanding on the body.

‘I do love you very much, you know,’ Ellery said. ‘You’ve been with me for twenty years. I can’t change that.’

‘That’s _family_ ,’ Forte said. ‘That’s not the same variety of "I love you".’

‘Do you have sexual relations with your family often?’ Ellery asked, wryly.

‘Why should that matter between the two of us?’

‘True,’ Ellery said, sobering.

‘You are going to write when we get home. Stay the night, I’m sure my house is more conducive to such things than Ratcliffe’s.’

‘Are you saying you… aren’t going to fuck me when we get home?’

‘After you write to lay your groundwork.’ Forte said firmly. Ellery pouted.

‘Awwwwww,’ he whined theatrically, ‘c’moooonnnnn.’

‘If you speak like that again, you _really_ won’t.’

‘For real though, I need internet to set up the laptop, at least at first.’

‘I happen to have internet,’ Forte said, with a mysterious smile.

‘What!’ Ellery exclaimed, ‘How?’

‘I wanted it the moment I discovered New York. I’m only hiding from _her_ ; the Mouse cares for me as much as he does for any of us.’

‘So… you just wandered into the House of Mouse and asked for wifi?’

‘Nothing so barbaric,’ Forte said, but he was smiling. ‘I have cables in the walls. Mice are wonderful electricians.’

-

Ellery wrote, and reflected, as he heard the pipe organ down below, that it was nice to write with someone writing alongside you, being able to hear them writing. Forte was composing, and Ellery was sitting in the front parlour, where his favourite chaise was, warming his feet by the fire, a teacup of warm water on the tray beside him.

As he’d read in books about medieval fantasy as a child, one was never truly warm unless one was right next to a fire in summer—and it was coming fall, in Forte’s home. Given the intricate woodwork and paint on the houses, and the puppet shop they passed, Ellery was certain they were not anywhere in Belle and Adam’s kingdom, but somewhere else. Krammarstang, he wanted to say—the world map Ratcliffe had was nearly identical to the one Ellery himself had designed (and lost) years ago, so Ellery was familiar with the scrolling names: Kingsait, Krammarstang, Lysshe, Vnaya, Summersea, Votsala… these names filled out the places that were unnamed, alongside the ones that had appeared in more modern Stories: Corona, Arendelle, Agrabah…. And Krammarstang was in the North, which meant it was going to get cold quickly, especially since, unlike Ellery’s world, the Magic Kingdom didn’t have global warming.

The writing went well, and he soon had something finished enough to publish; after that, it was time to wait. He didn’t know how long, but he’d tucked in little self-indulgent details that would hopefully take care of all the little health problems that limited his diet and made him a difficult house guest. He was tempted to fix other things, but waited on it. If this worked how he thought, he could fix those things, become truly independent and not need constant access to medical care. It seemed impossible, but… this was a place where dreams, however mundane, came true. He could wish on stars for things undramatic, that would nonetheless be dramatic to _him_.

The problem was incorporating it into even a character study; he, therefore, merely gave himself Talent, because being a mage meant you could do _anything_.

He wondered if other fictional worlds existed, and decided to see if he could go to any. Travelling had always been his passion, though his own world was not a place he fancied travelling—no, he’d always wanted to tour _fictional_ worlds, be a visitor and holidaymaker in Thedas, or Arda, or Malencontri, or the Disc.

Patience first, though. Patience was not his strong suit, which was a disheartening realisation to have, since impatience was one of those ugly American sorts of traits that Ellery hated being associated with. So, he would learn patience.

He would also dream big dreams, and write them down, and publish them, and _make_ _them happen_. He smiled to himself as he edited the latest ficlet, humming Tiana’s song.

_I remember Daddy told me,_   
_‘Fairy tales can come true—_   
_‘But you gotta make ‘em happen;_   
_‘It all depends on you!’_   
_So I work real hard each and ev’ry day;_   
_Now things for sure are goin’ my way!_   
_Just doin what I do—_   
_Look out, boys, I’m comin’ through!_

He hit ‘publish’.


End file.
